1  he  drux 


CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 


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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  CRUX 


BOOKS  BY  CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 

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In  This  Our  World  (verse)  .        .        .  1.25 

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THE  CRUX 


A  NOVEL 

BY 

CHARLOTTE    PERKINS   OILMAN 


CHARLTON  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 

1911 


Copyright.  1911 

by 
Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 


THE  CO-OPERATIVE    PRESS,    15    SPRUCE   STREET.   NEW   YORK 


PREFACE 

THIS  story  is,  first,  for  young  women 
to  read;    second,  for  young  men  to 
read;    after  that,  for  anybody  who 
wants  to.    Anyone  who  doubts  its  facts  and 
figures  is  referred  to  "Social  Diseases  and 
Marriage,"  by  Dr.  Prince  Morrow,  or  to 
"Hygiene  and  Morality,"  by  Miss  Lavinia 
Dock,  a  trained  nurse  of  long  experience. 

Some  will  hold  that  the  painful  facts  dis- 
closed are  unfit  for  young  girls  to  know. 
Young  girls  are  precisely  the  ones  who  must 
know  them,  in  order  that  they  may  protect 
themselves  and  their  children  to  come.  The 
time  to  know  of  danger  is  before  it  is  too 
late  to  avoid  it. 

If  some  say  "Innocence  is  the  greatest 
charm  of  young  girls,"  the  answer  is,  "What 
good  does  it  do  them?" 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  BACK  WAY 9 

II.    BAINYILLE  EFFECTS 31 

III.  THE  OUTBREAK 60 

IV.  TRANSPLANTED 81 

V.     CONTRASTS 101 

VI.    NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD 126 

VII.     SIDE  LIGHTS 149 

VIII.    A  MIXTURE 174 

IX.     CONSEQUENCES 204 

X.    DETERMINATION 229 

XI.     THEREAFTER 256 

XII.    ACHIEVEMENTS  .  283 


Who  should  know  but  the  woman? — The 
young  wife-to-be? 

Whose  whole  life  hangs  on  the  choice; 
To  her  the  ruin,  the  misery; 

To  her,  the  deciding  voice. 

Who  should  know  but  the  woman? — The 

mother-to-be? 

Guardian,  Giver,  and  Guide; 
If  she  may  not  foreknow,  forejudge  and 

foresee, 
What  safety  has  childhood  beside? 

Who  should  know  but  the  woman? — The 

girl  in  her  youth? 
The  hour  of  the  warning  is  then, 
That,  strong  in  her  knowledge  and  free  in 

her  truth, 
She  may  build  a  new  race  of  new  men. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  BACK  WAY 

Along  the  same  old  garden  path, 
Sweet  with  the  same  old  flowers; 
Under  the  lilacs,  darkly  dense, 
The  easy  gate  in  the  backyard  fence — 
Those  unforgotten  hours! 

THE  "Foote  Girls"  were  bustling 
along  Margate  Street  with  an  air 
of  united  purpose  that  was  unusual 
with  them.  Miss  Rebecca  wore  her  black 
silk  cloak,  by  which  it  might  be  seen  that 
"a  call"  was  toward.  Miss  Jessie,  the  thin 
sister,  and  Miss  Sallie,  the  fat  one,  were 
more  hastily  attired.  They  were  persons 
of  less  impressiveness  than  Miss  Rebecca, 
as  was  tacitly  admitted  by  their  more 
familiar  nicknames,  a  concession  never  made 
by  the  older  sister. 

Even  Miss  Rebecca  was  hurrying  a  little, 
for  her,  but  the  others  were  swifter  and 
more  impatient. 

"Do  come  on,  Rebecca.    Anybody'd  think 


10  THE  CRUX 

you  were  eighty  instead  of  fifty!"  said  Miss 
Sallie. 

"There's  Mrs.  Williams  going  in!  I 
wonder  if  she's  heard  already.  Do  hurry!" 
urged  Miss  Josie. 

But  Miss  Rebecca,  being  concerned  about 
her  dignity,  would  not  allow  herself  to  be 
hustled,  and  the  three  proceeded  in  irreg- 
ular order  under  the  high-arched  elms  and 
fence-topping  syringas  of  the  small  New 
England  town  toward  the  austere  home  of 
Mr.  Samuel  Lane. 

It  was  a  large,  uncompromising,  square, 
white  house,  planted  starkly  in  the  close-cut 
grass.  It  had  no  porch  for  summer  loung- 
ing, no  front  gate  for  evening  dalliance,  no 
path-bordering  beds  of  flowers  from  which 
to  pluck  a  hasty  offering  or  more  redundant 
tribute.  The  fragrance  which  surrounded  it 
came  from  the  back  yard,  or  over  the  fences 
of  neighbors ;  the  trees  which  waved  greenly 
about  it  were  the  trees  of  other  people.  Mr. 
Lane  had  but  two  trees,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  straight  and  narrow  path,  evenly  placed 
between  house  and  sidewalk — evergreens. 

Mrs.  Lane  received  them  amiably;    the 


THE  BACK  WAY  11 

minister's  new  wife,  Mrs.  Williams,  was 
proving  a  little  difficult  to  entertain.  She 
was  from  Cambridge,  Mass.,  and  emanated 
a  restrained  consciousness  of  that  fact.  Mr. 
Lane  rose  stiffly  and  greeted  them.  He  did 
not  like  the  Foote  girls,  not  having  the  usual 
American's  share  of  the  sense  of  humor.  He 
had  no  enjoyment  of  the  town  joke,  as  old 
as  they  were,  that  "the  three  of  them  made 
a  full  yard;"  and  had  frowned  down  as  a 
profane  impertinent  the  man — a  little  sore 
under  some  effect  of  gossip — who  had 
amended  it  with  "make  an  'ell,  I  say." 

Safely  seated  in  their  several  rocking 
chairs,  and  severally  rocking  them,  the 
Misses  Foote  burst  forth,  as  was  their  cus- 
tom, in  simultaneous,  though  by  no  means 
identical  remarks. 

"I  suppose  you've  heard  about  Morton 
Elder?" 

"What  do  you  think  Mort  Elder's  been 
doing  now?" 

"We've  got  b'ad  news  for  poor  Miss 
Elder!" 

Mrs.  Lane  was  intensely  interested.  Even 
Mr.  Lane  showed  signs  of  animation. 


12  THE  CRUX 

"I'm  not  surprised,"  he  said. 

"He's  done  it  now,"  opined  Miss  Josie 
with  conviction.  "I  always  said  Rella  Elder 
was  spoiling  that  boy." 

"It's  too  bad — after  all  she's  done  for 
him!  He  always  was  a  scamp!"  Thus  Miss 
Sallie. 

"I've  been  afraid  of  it  all  along,"  Miss 
Rebecca  was  saying,  her  voice  booming 
through  the  lighter  tones  of  her  sisters.  "I 
always  said  he'd  never  get  through  college." 

"But  who  is  Morton  Elder,  and  what  has 
he  done?"  asked  Mrs.  Williams  as  soon  as 
she  could  be  heard. 

This  lady  now  proved  a  most  valuable 
asset.  She  was  so  new  to  the  town,  and  had 
been  so  immersed  in  the  suddenly  widening 
range  of  her  unsalaried  duties  as  "minister's 
wife,"  that  she  had  never  even  heard  of 
Morton  Elder.  . 

A  new  resident  always  fans  the  languish- 
ing flame  of  local  conversation.  The  whole 
shopworn  stock  takes  on  a  fresh  lustre, 
topics  long  trampled  flat  in  much  discussion 
lift  their  heads  anew,  opinions  one  scarce 
dared  to  repeat  again  become  almost  author- 


THE  BACK  WAY  13 

itative,  old  stories  flourish  freshly,  acquiring 
new  detail  and  more  vivid  color. 

Mrs.  Lane,  seizing  her  opportunity  while 
the  sisters  gasped  a  momentary  amazement 
at  anyone's  not  knowing  the  town  scape- 
grace, and  taking  advantage  of  her  position 
as  old  friend  and  near  neighbor  of  the  fam- 
ily under  discussion,  swept  into  the  field 
under  such  headway  that  even  the  Foote 
girls  remained  silent  perforce;  surcharged, 
however,  and  holding  their  breaths  in  readi- 
ness to  burst  forth  at  the  first  opening. 

"He's  the  nephew — orphan  nephew — of 
Miss  Elder — who  lives  right  back  of  us — 
our  yards  touch — we've  always  been  friends 
— went  to  school  together,  Rella's  never 
married — she  teaches,  you  know — and  her 
brother — he  owned  the  home — it's  all  hers 
now,  he  died  all  of  a  sudden  and  left  two 
children — Morton  and  Susie.  Mort  was 
about  seven  years  old  and  Susie  just  a  baby. 
He's  been  an  awful  cross — but  she  just  idol- 
izes him — she's  spoiled  him,  I  tell  her." 

Mrs.  Lane  had  to  breathe,  and  even  the 
briefest  pause  left  her  stranded  to  wait 
another  chance.  The  three  social  benefac- 


14  THE  CRUX 

tors  proceeded  to  distribute  their  informa- 
tion in  a  clattering  torrent.  They  sought  to 
inform  Mrs.  Williams  in  especial,  of  num- 
berless details  of  the  early  life  and  educa- 
tion of  their  subject,  matters  which  would 
have  been  treated  more  appreciatively  if 
they  had  not  been  blessed  with  the  later 
news;  and,  at  the  same  time,  each  was  seek- 
ing for  a  more  dramatic  emphasis  to  give 
this  last  supply  of  incident  with  due  effect. 

No  regular  record  is  possible  where  three 
persons  pour  forth  statement  and  comment 
in  a  rapid,  tumultuous  stream,  interrupted 
by  cross  currents  of  heated  contradiction, 
and  further  varied  by  the  exclamations  and 
protests  of  three  hearers,  or  at  least,  of  two ; 
for  the  one  man  present  soon  relapsed  into 
disgusted  silence. 

Mrs.  Williams,  turning  a  perplexed  face 
from  one  to  the  other,  inwardly  condemn- 
ing the  darkening  flood  of  talk,  yet  con- 
scious of  a  sinful  pleasure  in  it,  and  anxious 
as  a  guest,  and  a  minister's  wife,  to  be  most 
amiable,  felt  like  one  watching  three  kinete- 
scopes  at  once.  She  saw,  in  confused  pic- 
tures of  blurred  and  varying  outline,  Orella 


THE  BACK  WAY  15 

Elder,  the  young  New  England  girl,  only 
eighteen,  already  a  "school  ma'am,"  sud- 
denly left  with  two  children  to  bring  up, 
and  doing  it,  as  best  she  could.  She  saw  the 
boy,  momentarily  changing,  in  his  shuttle- 
cock flight  from  mouth  to  mouth,  through 
pale  shades  of  open  mischief  to  the  black 
and  scarlet  of  hinted  sin,  the  terror  of  the 
neighborhood,  the  darling  of  his  aunt, 
clever,  audacious,  scandalizing  the  quiet 
town. 

"Boys  are  apt  to  be  mischievous,  aren't 
they?"  she  suggested  when  it  was  possible. 

"He's  worse  than  mischievous,"  Mr.  Lane 
assured  her  sourly.  "There's  a  mean  streak 
in  that  family." 

"That's  on  his  mother's  side,"  Mrs.  Lane 
hastened  to  add.  "She  was  a  queer  girl — 
came  from  New  York." 

The  Foote  girls  began  again,  with  rich 
profusion  of  detail,  their  voices  rising  shrill, 
one  above  the  other,  and  playing  together 
at  their  full  height  like  emulous  fountains. 

"We  ought  not  to  judge,  you  know;" 
urged  Mrs.  Williams.  "What  do  you  say 
he's  really  done?" 


16  THE  CRUX 

Being  sifted,  it  appeared  that  this  last 
and  most  terrible  performance  was  to  go  to 
"the  city"  with  a  group  of  "the  worst  boys 
of  college,"  to  get  undeniably  drunk,  to  do 
some  piece  of  mischief.  (Here  was  great 
licence  in  opinion,  and  in  contradiction.) 

"Anyway  he's  to  be  suspended!"  said 
Miss  Rebecca  with  finality. 

"Suspended!"  Miss  Josie's  voice  rose  in 
scorn.  "Expelled!  They  said  he  was  ex- 
pelled." 

"In  disgrace!"  added  Miss  Sallie. 

Vivian  Lane  sat  in  the  back  room  at  the 
window,  studying  in  the  lingering  light  of 
the  long  June  evening.  At  least,  she  ap- 
peared to  be  studying.  Her  tall  figure  was 
bent  over  her  books,  but  the  dark  eyes  blazed 
under  their  delicate  level  brows,  and  her 
face  flushed  and  paled  with  changing  feel- 
ings. 

She  had  heard — who,  in  the  same  house, 
could  escape  hearing  the  Misses  Foote? — 
and  had  followed  the  torrent  of  descrip- 
tion, hearsay,  surmise  and  allegation  with 
an  interest  that  was  painful  in  its  intensity. 

"It's  a  shame!"  she  whispered  under  hen 


THE  BACK  WAY  17 

breath.  "A  shame!  And  nobody  to  stand 
up  for  him!" 

She  half  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  to  do  it 
herself,  but  sank  back  irresolutely. 

A  fresh  wave  of  talk  rolled  forth. 

"It'll  half  kill  his  aunt." 

"Poor  Miss  Elder!  I  don't  know  what 
she'll  do!" 

"I  don't  know  what  he'll  do.  He  can't  go 
back  to  college." 

"He'll  have  to  go  to  work." 

"I'd  like  to  know  where — nobody'd  hire 
him  in  this  town." 

The  girl  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She 
came  to  the  door,  and  there,  as  they  paused 
to  speak  to  her,  her  purpose  ebbed  again. 

"My  daughter,  Vivian,  Mrs.  Williams," 
said  her  mother;  and  the  other  callers 
greeted  her  familiarly. 

"You'd  better  finish  your  lessons,  Viv- 
ian," Mr.  Lane  suggested. 

"I  have,  father,"  said  the  girl,  and  took 
a  chair  by  the  minister's  wife.  She 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  if  she  were 
there,  they  would  not  talk  so  about  Mor- 
ton Elder. 


18  THE  CRUX 

Mrs.  Williams  hailed  the  interruption 
gratefully.  She  liked  the  slender  girl  with 
the  thoughtful  eyes  and  pretty,  rather  pa- 
thetic mouth,  and  sought  to  draw  her  out. 
But  her  questions  soon  led  to  unfortunate 
results. 

"You  are  going  to  college,  I  suppose?" 
she  presently  inquired;  and  Vivian  owned 
that  it  was  the  desire  of  her  heart. 

"Nonsense!"  said  her  father.  "Stuff  and 
nonsense,  Vivian!  You're  not  going  to  col- 
lege." 

The  Foote  girls  now  burst  forth  in  volu- 
ble agreement  with  Mr.  Lane.  His  wife 
was  evidently  of  the  same  mind;  and  Mrs. 
Williams  plainly  regretted  her  question. 
But  Vivian  mustered  courage  enough  to 
make  a  stand,  strengthened  perhaps  by  the 
depth  of  the  feeling  which  had  brought  her 
into  the  room. 

"I  don't  know  why  you're  all  so  down  on 
a  girl's  going  to  college.  Eve  Marks  has 
gone,  and  Mary  Spring  is  going — and  both 
the  Austin  girls.  Everybody  goes  now." 

"I  know  one  girl  that  won't,"  was  her 
father's  incisive  comment,  and  her  mother 


THE  BACK  WAY  19 

said  quietly,  "A  girl's  place  is  at  home  —  'till 


marries." 


"Suppose  I  don't  want  to  marry?''  said 
Vivian. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  her  father  an- 
swered. "Marriage  is  a  woman's  duty." 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  asked  Miss 
Josie  in  the  interests  of  further  combat. 
"Do  you  want  to  he  a  doctor,  like  Jane 
Bellair?" 

"I  should  like  to  very  much  indeed,"  said 
the  girl  with  quiet  intensity.  "I'd  like  to 
be  a  doctor  in  a  babies'  hospital." 

"More  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Lane.  "Don't 
talk  to  me  about  that  woman!  You  attend 
to  your  studies,  and  then  to  your  home 
duties,  my  dear." 

The  talk  rose  anew,  the  three  sisters  con- 
triving all  to  agree  with  Mr.  Lane  in  his 
opinions  about  college,  marriage  and  Dr. 
Bellair,  yet  to  disagree  violently  among 
themselves. 

Mrs.  Williams  rose  to  go,  and  in  the  lull 
that  followed  the  liquid  note  of  a  whippoor- 
will  met  the  girl's  quick  ear.  She  quietly 
slipped  out,  unnoticed. 


SO  THE  CRUX 

The  Lane's  home  stood  near  the  outer 
edge  of  the  town,  with  an  outlook  across 
wide  meadows  and  soft  wooded  hills.  Be- 
hind, their  long  garden  backed  on  that  of 
Miss  Orella  Elder,  with  a  connecting  gate 
in  the  gray  board  fence.  Mrs.  Lane  had 
grown  up  here.  The  house  belonged  to  her 
mother,  Mrs.  Servilla  Pettigrew,  though 
that  able  lady  was  seldom  in  it,  preferring 
to  make  herself  useful  among  two  growing 
sets  of  grandchildren. 

Miss  Elder  was  Vivian's  favorite  teacher. 
She  was  a  careful  and  conscientious  in- 
structor, and  the  girl  was  a  careful  and  con- 
scientious scholar;  so  they  got  on  admirably 
together;  indeed,  there  was  a  real  affection 
between  them.  And  just  as  the  young 
Laura  Pettigrew  had  played  with  the 
younger  Orella  Elder,  so  Vivian  had  played 
with  little  Susie  Elder,  Miss  Orella's  orphan 
niece.  Susie  regarded  the  older  girl  with 
worshipful  affection,  which  was  not  at  all 
unpleasant  to  an  emotional  young  creature 
with  unemotional  parents,  and  no  brothers 
or  sisters  of  her  own. 

Moreover,  Susie  was  Morton's  sister. 


THE  BACK   WAY  21 

The  whippoorwill's  cry  sounded  again 
through  the  soft  June  night.  Vivian  came 
quickly  down  the  garden  path  between  the 
bordering  beds  of  sweet  alyssum  and  mign- 
onette. A  dew-wet  rose  brushed  against 
her  hand.  She  broke  it  off,  pricking  her 
fingers,  and  hastily  fastened  it  in  the  bosom 
of  her  white  frock. 

Large  old  lilac  bushes  hung  over  the  divid- 
ing fence,  a  thick  mass  of  honeysuckle 
climbed  up  by  the  gate  and  mingled  with 
them,  spreading  over  to  a  pear  tree  on  the 
Lane  side.  In  this  fragrant,  hidden  corner 
was  a  rough  seat,  and  from  it  a  boy's  hand 
reached  out  and  seized  the  girl's,  drawing  her 
down  beside  him.  She  drew  away  from  him 
as  far  as  the  seat  allowed. 

"Oh  Morton!"  she  said.  "What  have  you 
done?" 

Morton  was  sulky. 

"Now  Vivian,  are  you  down  on  me  too? 
I  thought  I  had  one  friend." 

"You  ought  to  tell  me,"  she  said  more 
gently.  "How  can  I  be  your  friend  if  I  don't 
know  the  facts?  They  are  saying  perfectly 
awful  things." 


22  THE  CRUX 

"Who  are?" 

"Why — the  Foote  girls — everybody." 

"Oh  those  old  maids  aren't  everybody,  I 
assure  you.  You  see,  Vivian,  you  live  right 
here  in  this  old  oyster  of  a  town — and  you 
make  mountains  out  of  molehills  like  every- 
body else.  A  girl  of  your  intelligence  ought 
to  know  better." 

She  drew  a  great  breath  of  relief.  "Then 
you  haven't — done  it?" 

"Done  what?  What's  all  this  mysterious 
talk  anyhow?  The  prisoner  has  a  right  to 
know  what  he's  charged  with  before  he  com- 
mits himself." 

The  girl  was  silent,  finding  it  difficult  to 
begin. 

"Well,  out  with  it.  What  do  they  say  I 
did?"  He  picked  up  a  long  dry  twig  and 
broke  it,  gradually,  into  tiny,  half -inch  bits. 

"They  say  you — went  to  the  city — with  a 
lot  of  the  worst  boys  in  college " 

"Well?  Many  persons  go  to  the  city 
every  day.  That's  no  crime,  surely.  As  for 
'the  worst  boys  in  college,' " — he  laughed 
scornfully — "I  suppose  those  old  ladies 
think  if  a  fellow  smokes  a  cigarette  or  says 


THE  BACK  WAY  23 

'darn'  he's  a  tough.  They're  mighty  nice 
fellows,  that  bunch — most  of  'em.  Got  some 
ginger  in  'em,  that's  all.  What  else?" 

"They  say — you  drank." 

"O  ho!  Said  I  got  drunk,  I  warrant! 
Well — we  did  have  a  skate  on  that  time,  I 
admit!"  And  he  laughed  as  if  this  charge 
were  but  a  familiar  joke. 

"Why  Morton  Elder!     I  think  it  is  a- 
disgrace !" 

"Pshaw,  Vivian! — You  ought  to  have 
more  sense.  All  the  fellows  get  gay  once  in 
a  while.  A  college  isn't  a  young  ladies' 
seminary." 

He  reached  out  and  got  hold  of  her  hand 
again,  but  she  drew  it  away. 

"There  was  something  else,"  she  said. 

"What  was  it?"  he  questioned  sharply. 
"What  did  they  say?" 

But  she  would  not  satisfy  him — perhaps 
could  not. 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed,  to  make 
your  aunt  so  much  trouble.  They  said  you 
were  suspended — or — expelled!" 

He  shrugged  his  big  shoulders  and  threw 
away  the  handful  of  broken  twigs. 


24  THE  CRUX 

"That's  true  enough — I  might  as  well  ad- 
mit that." 

"Oh,  Morton!—  I  didn't  believe  it.  Ex- 
pelled!" 

"Yes,  expelled — turned  down — thrown 
out— fired!  And  I'm  glad  of  it."  He 
leaned  back  against  the  fence  and  whistled 
very  softly  through  his  teeth. 

"Sh!  Sh!"  she  urged.    "Please!" 

He  was  quiet. 

"But  Morton — what  are  you  going  to  do? 
— Won't  it  spoil  your  career?" 

"No,  my  dear  little  girl,  it  will  not !"  said 
he.  "On  the  contrary,  it  will  be  the  making 
of  me.  I  tell  you,  Vivian,  I'm  sick  to  death 
of  this  town  of  maiden  ladies — and  'good 
family  men.'  I'm  sick  of  being  fussed  over 
for  ever  and  ever,  and  having  wristers  and 
mufflers  knitted  for  me — and  being  told  to 
put  on  my  rubbers!  There's  no  fun  in  this 
old  clamshell — this  kitchen-midden  of  a  town 
— and  I'm  going  to  quit  it." 

He  stood  up  and  stretched  his  long  arms. 
"I'm  going  to  quit  it  for  good  and  all." 

The  girl  sat  still,  her  hands  gripping  the 
seat  on  either  side. 


THE  BACK   WAY.  25 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I'm  going  west — clear  out  west.  I've 
been  talking  with  Aunt  Rella  about  it.  Dr. 
Bellair'll  help  me  to  a  job,  she  thinks.  She's 
awful  cut  up,  of  course.  I'm  sorry  she  feels 
bad— but  she  needn't,  I  tell  her.  I  shall  do 
better  there  than  I  ever  should  have  here. 
I  know  a  fellow  that  left  college — his  father 
failed — and  he  went  into  business  and  made 
two  thousand  dollars  in  a  year.  I  always 
wanted  to  take  up  business — you  know 
that!" 

She  knew  it — he  had  talked  of  it  freely 
before  they  had  argued  and  persuaded  him 
into  the  college  life.  She  knew,  too,  how 
his  aunt's  hopes  all  centered  in  him,  and  in 
his  academic  honors  and  future  professional 
life.  "Business,"  to  his  aunt's  mind,  was  a 
necessary  evil,  which  could  at  best  be  under- 
taken only  after  a  "liberal  education." 

"When  are  you  going,"  she  asked  at 
length. 

"Right  off— to-morrow." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"That's  what  I  was  whippoorwilling  about 


26  THE  CRUX 

— I  knew  I'd  get  no  other  chance  to  talk  to 
vou — I  wanted  to  say  good-by,  you  know." 

The  girl  sat  silent,  struggling  not  to  cry. 
He  dropped  beside  her,  stole  an  arm  about 
her  waist,  and  felt  her  tremble. 

"Now,  Viva,  don't  you  go  and  cry!  I'm 
sorry — I  really  am  sorry — to  make  you  feel 
bad." 

This  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  sobbed 
frankly. 

"Oh,  Morton!  How  could  you!  How 
could  you! — And  now  you've  got  to  go 
away!" 

"There  now — don't  cry — sh! — they'll  hear 
you." 

She  did  hush  at  that. 

"And  don't  feel  so  bad— I'll  come  back 
some  time — to  see  you." 

"No,  you  won't!"  she  answered  with  sud- 
den fierceness.  "You'll  just  go — and  stay — 
and  I  never  shall  see  you  again!" 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him.  "And  do  you 
care — so  much — Viva?" 

"Of  course,  I  care!"  she  said,  "Haven't 
we  always  been  friends,  the  best  of  friends?" 

"Yes — you   and  Aunt  Rella  have  been 


THE  BACK  WAY  27 

about  all  I  had,"  he  admitted  with  a  cheerful 
laugh.  "I  hope  I'll  make  more  friends  out 
yonder.  But  Viva" — his  hand  pressed 
closer — "is  it  only — friends?" 

She  took  fright  at  once  and  drew 
away  from  him.  "You  mustn't  do  that, 
Morton!" 

"Do  what?"  A  shaft  of  moonlight  shone 
on  his  teasing  face.  "What  am  I  doing?" 
he  said. 

It  is  difficult — it  is  well  nigh  impossible — 
for  a  girl  to  put  a  name  to  certain  small  cud- 
dlings  not  in  themselves  terrifying,  nor  even 
unpleasant,  but  which  she  obscurely  feels  to 
be  wrong. 

Viva  flushed  and  was  silent — he  could  see 
the  rich  color  flood  her  face. 

"Come  now — don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow!" 
he  urged.  "I  shan't  see  you  again  in  ever  so 
long.  You'll  forget  all  about  me  before  a 
year's  over." 

She  shook  her  head,  still  silent. 

"Won't  you  speak  to  me — Viva?" 

"I  wish "  She  could  not  find  the 

words  she  wanted.  "Oh,  I  wish  you — 
wouldn't!" 


28  THE  CRUX 

"Wouldn't  what,  Girlie?  Wouldn't  go 
away?  Sorry  to  disoblige — but  I  have  to. 
There's  no  place  for  me  here." 

The  girl  felt  the  sad  truth  of  that. 

"Aunt  Rella  will  get  used  to  it  after  a 
while.  I'll  write  to  her — I'll  make  lots  of 
money — and  come  back  in  a  few  years — as- 
tonish you  all! — Meanwhile — kiss  me  good- 
by,  Viva!" 

She  drew  back  shyly.  She  had  never 
kissed  him.  She  had  never  in  her  life  kissed 
any  man  younger  than  an  uncle. 

"No,  Morton — you  mustn't "  She 

shrank  away  into  the  shadow. 

But,  there  was  no  great  distance  to  shrink 
to,  and  his  strong  arms  soon  drew  her  close 
again. 

"Suppose  you  never  see  me  again,"  he 
said.  "Then  you'll  wish  you  hadn't  been  so 
stiff  about  it." 

She  thought  of  this  dread  possibility  with 
a  sudden  chill  of  horror,  and  while  she  hesi- 
tated, he  took  her  face  between  her  hands 
and  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

Steps  were  heard  coming  down  the 
path. 


THE  BACK   WAY  29 

"They're  on,"  he  said  with  a  little  laugh. 
"Good-by,  Viva!" 

He  vaulted  the  fence  and  was  gone. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Vivian?"  de- 
manded her  father. 

"I  was  saying  good-by  to  Morton,"  she 
answered  with  a  sob. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself — 
philandering  out  here  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  with  that  scapegrace!  Come  in  the 
house  and  go  to  bed  at  once — it's  ten 
o'clock." 

Bowing  to  this  confused  but  almost 
equally  incriminating  chronology,  she  fol- 
lowed him  in,  meekly  enough  as  to  her  out- 
ward seeming,  but  inwardly  in  a  state  of 
stormy  tumult. 

She  had  been  kissed! 

Her  father's  stiff  back  before  her  could 
not  blot  out  the  radiant,  melting  moonlight, 
the  rich  sweetness  of  the  flowers,  the  tender, 
soft,  June  night. 

"You  go  to  bed,"  said  he  once  more.  "I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

"Yes,  father,"  she  answered. 

Her  little  room,  when  at  last  she  was 


30  THE  CRUX 

safely  in  it  and  had  shut  the  door  and  put  a 
chair  against  it — she  had  no  key — seemed 
somehow  changed. 

She  lit  the  lamp  and  stood  looking  at  her- 
self in  the  mirror.  Her  eyes  were  star-bright. 
Her  cheeks  flamed  softly.  Her  mouth  looked 
guilty  and  yet  glad. 

She  put  the  light  out  and  went  to  the 
window,  kneeling  there,  leaning  out  in  the 
fragrant  stillness,  trying  to  arrange  in  her 
mind  this  mixture  of  grief,  disapproval, 
shame  and  triumph. 

When  the  Episcopal  church  clock  struck 
eleven,  she  went  to  bed  in  guilty  haste,  but 
not  to  sleep. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  there  watching 
the  changing  play  of  moonlight  on  the  floor. 

She  felt  almpst  as  if  she  were  married. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  31 


CHAPTER  II. 

BAINVILLE  EFFECTS. 

Lockstep,  handcuffs,   ankle-ball-and-chain, 
Dulltoil  and  dreary  food  and  drink; 
Small  cell,  cold  cell,  narrow  bed  and  hard; 
High  wall,  thick  wall,  window  iron-barred; 
Stone-paved,  stone-pent  little  prison  yard- 
Young  hearts  weary  of  monotony  and  pain, 
Young  hearts  weary  of  reiterant  refrain: 
"They  say— they  do—  what  will  people  think?" 

AT  the  two  front  windows  of  their 
rather   crowded   little   parlor   sat 
Miss    Rebecca    and    Miss    Josie 
Foote,  Miss  Sallie  being  out  on  a  foraging 
expedition — marketing,  as  it  were,  among 
their  neighbors  to   collect   fresh   food  for 
thought. 

A  tall,  slender  girl  in  brown  passed  on  the 
opposite  walk. 

"I  should  think  Vivian  Lane  would  get 

tired  of  wearing  brown,"  said  Miss  Rebecca. 

"I  don't  know  why  she  should,"  her  sister 

promptly  protested,   "it's   a   good   enough 

wearing  color,  and  becoming  to  her." 


32  THE  CRUX 

"She  could  afford  to  have  more  variety," 
said  Miss  Rebecca.  "The  Lanes  are  mean 
enough  about  some  things,  but  I  know  they'd 
like  to  have  her  dress  better.  She'll  never 
get  married  in  the  world." 

"I  don't  know  why  not.  She's  only 
twenty-five — and  good-looking." 

"Good-looking!  That's  not  everything. 
Plenty  of  girls  marry  that  are  not  good- 
looking— and  plenty  of  good-looking  girls 
stay  single." 

"Plenty  of  homely  ones,  too.  Rebecca," 
said  Miss  Josie,  with  meaning.  Miss  Re- 
becca certainly  was  not  handsome.  "Going 
to  the  library,  of  course!"  she  pursued  pres- 
ently. "That  girl  reads  all  the  time." 

"So  does  her  grandmother.  I  see  her  go- 
ing and  coming  from  that  library  every  day 
almost." 

"Oh,  well — she  reads  stories  and  things 
like  that.  Sallie  goes  pretty  often  and  she 
notices.  We  use  that  library  enough,  good- 
ness knows,  but  they  are  there  every  day. 
Vivian  Lane  reads  the  queerest  things — doc- 
tor's books  and  works  on  pedagoggy." 
"Godgy,"  said  Miss  Rebecca,  "not 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  33 

goggy."  And  as  her  sister  ignored  this  cor- 
rection, she  continued:  "They  might  as  well 
have  let  her  go  to  college  when  she  was  so 
set  on  it." 

"College!  I  don't  believe  she'd  have 
learned  as  much  in  any  college,  from  what 
I  hear  of  'em,  as  she  has  in  all  this  time  at 
home."  The  Foote  girls  had  never  enter- 
tained a  high  opinion  of  extensive  culture. 

"I  don't  see  any  use  in  a  girl's  studying  so 
much,"  said  Miss  Rebecca  with  decision. 

"Nor  I,"  agreed  Miss  Josie.  "Men  don't 
like  learned  women." 

"They  don't  seem  to  always  like  those 
that  aren't  learned,  either,"  remarked  Miss 
Rebecca  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  retribution 
for  that  remark  about  "homely  ones." 

The  tall  girl  in  brown  had  seen  the  two 
faces  at  the  windows  opposite,  and  had  held 
her  shoulders  a  little  straighter  as  she  turned 
the  corner. 

"Nine  years  this  Summer  since  Morton 
Elder  went  West,"  murmured  Miss  Josie, 
reminiscently.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Viv- 
ian had  stayed  single  on  his  account." 

"Nonsense!"  her  sister  answered  sharply. 


34  THE  CRUX 

"She's  not  that  kind.     She's  not  popular 
with  men,  that's  all.   She's  too  intellectual." 

"She  ought  to  be  in  the  library  instead  of 
Sue  Elder,"  Miss  Rebecca  suggested.  "She's 
far  more  competent.  Sue's  a  feather-headed 
little  thing." 

"She  seems  to  give  satisfaction  so  far. 
If  the  trustees  are  pleased  with  her,  there's 
no  reason  for  you  to  complain  that  I  see," 
said  Miss  Rebecca  with  decision. 

•  ••••• 

Vivian  Lane  waited  at  the  library  desk 
with  an  armful  of  books  to  take  home.  She 
had  her  card,  her  mother's  and  her  father's 
— all  utilized.  Her  grandmother  kept  her 
own  card — and  her  own  counsel. 

The  pretty  assistant  librarian,  withdraw- 
ing herself  with  some  emphasis  from  the 
unnecessary  questions  of  a  too  gallant  old 
gentleman,  came  to  attend  her. 

"You  have  got  a  load,"  she  said,  scribbling  ' 
complex  figures  with  one  end  of  her  ham- 
mer-headed pencil,  and  stamping  violet  dates 
with  the  other.  She  whisked  out  the  pale 
blue  slips  from  the  lid  pockets,  dropped 
them  into  their  proper  openings  in  the  desk 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  35 

and  inserted  the  cards  in  their  stead  with 
delicate  precision. 

"Can't  you  wait  a  bit  and  go  home 
with  me?"  she  asked.  "I'll  help  you  carry 
them." 

"No,  thanks.  I'm  not  going  right 
home." 

"You're  going  to  see  your  Saint — I 
know!"  said  Miss  Susie,  tossing  her  bright 
head.  "I'm  jealous,  and  you  know  it." 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Susie!  You  know 
you're  my  very  best  friend,  but — she's  dif- 
ferent." ' 

"I  should  think  she  was  different!"  Susie 
sharply  agreed.  "And  you've  been  'differ- 
ent' ever  since  she  came." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Vivian  gravely.  "Mrs. 
St.  Cloud  brings  out  one's  very  best  and 
highest.  I  wish  you  liked  her  better,  Susie." 

"I  like  you,"  Susie  answered.  "You  bring 
out  my  'best  and  highest' — if  I've  got  any. 
She  don't.  She's  like  a  lovely,  faint,  bright 
— bubble !  I  want  to  prick  it !" 

Vivian  smiled  down  upon  her. 

"You  bad  little  mouse!"  she  said.  "Come, 
give  me  the  books." 


36  THE  CRUX 

"Leave  them  with  me,  and  I'll  bring  them 
in  the  car."  Susie  looked  anxious  to  make 
amends  for  her  bit  of  blasphemy. 

"All  right,  dear.  Thank  you.  I'll  be 
home  by  that  time,  probably." 

In  the  street  she  stopped  before  a  little 
shop  where  papers  and  magazines  were  sold. 

"I  believe  Father'd  like  the  new  Centu- 
rion, she  said  to  herself,  and  got  it  for  him, 
chatting  a  little  with  the  one-armed  man  who 
kept  the  place.  She  stopped  again  at  a 
small  florist's  and  bought  a  little  bag  of 
bulbs. 

"Your  mother's  forgotten  about  those,  I 
guess,"  said  Mrs.  Crothers,  the  florist's  wife, 
"but  they'll  do  just  as  well  now.  Lucky  you 
thought  of  them  before  it  got  too  late  in 
the  season.  Bennie  was  awfully  pleased  with 
that  red  and  blue  pencil  you  gave  him,  Miss 
Lane." 

Vivian  walked  on.  A  child  ran  out  sud- 
denly from  a  gate  and  seized  upon  her. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in  to  see  me — ever?" 
she  demanded. 

Vivian  stooped  and  kissed  her. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  37 

"Yes,  dear,  but  not  to-night.  How's  that 
dear  baby  getting  on?" 

"She's  better,"  said  the  little  girl.  "Mother 
said  thank  you — lots  of  times.  Wait  a  min- 
ute—" 

The  child  fumbled  in  Vivian's  coat  pocket 
with  a  mischievous  upward  glance,  fished  out 
a  handful  of  peanuts,  and  ran  up  the  path 
laughing  while  the  tall  girl  smiled  down  upon 
her  lovingly. 

A  long-legged  boy  was  lounging  along 
the  wet  sidewalk.  Vivian  caught  up  with 
liim  and  he  joined  her  with  eagerness. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Lane.  Say — are 
you  coming  to  the  club  to-morrow 
night?" 

She  smiled  cordially. 

"Of  course  I  am,  Johnny.  I  wouldn't 
disappoint  my  boys  for  anything — nor  my- 
self, either." 

They  walked  on  together  chatting  until, 
at  the  minister's  house,  she  bade  him  a 
cheery  "good-night." 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud  was  at  the  window  pen- 
sively watching  the  western  sky.  She  saw 
the  girl  coming  and  let  her  in  with  a  tender, 


38  THE  CRUX 

radiant  smile — a  lovely  being  in  a  most  un- 
lovely room. 

There  was  a  chill  refinement  above  sub- 
dued confusion  in  that  Cambridge-Bain- 
ville  parlor,  where  the  higher  culture  of  the 
second  Mrs.  Williams,  superimposed  upon 
the  lower  culture  of  the  first,  as  that  upon 
the  varying  tastes  of  a  combined  ancestry, 
made  the  place  somehow  suggestive  of  ex- 
cavations at  Abydos. 

It  was  much  the  kind  of  parlor  Vivian 
had  been  accustomed  to  from  childhood, 
but  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  was  of  a  type  quite  new 
to  her.  Clothed  in  soft,  clinging  fabrics, 
always  with  a  misty,  veiled  effect  to  them, 
wearing  pale  amber,  large,  dull  stones  of 
uncertain  shapes,  and  slender  chains  that 
glittered  here  and  there  among  her  scarfs 
and  laces,  sinking  gracefully  among  deep 
cushions,  even  able  to  sink  gracefully  into 
a  comjmon  Bainville  chair — this  beautiful 
woman  had  captured  the  girl's  imagination 
from  the  first. 

Clearly  known,  she  was  a  sister  of  Mrs. 
Williams,  visiting  indefinitely.  Vaguely — 
and  very  frequently — hinted,  her  husband 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  39 

had  "left  her,"  and  "she  did  not  believe  in 
divorce."  Against  her  background  of  dumb 
patience,  he  shone  darkly  forth  as  A  Brute 
of  unknown  cruelties.  Nothing  against  him 
would  she  ever  say,  and  every  young  mas- 
culine heart  yearned  to  make  life  brighter  to 
the  Ideal  Woman,  so  strangely  neglected; 
also  some  older  ones.  Her  Young  Men's 
Bible  Class  was  the  pride  of  Mr.  Williams' 
heart  and  joy  of  such  young  men  as  the 
town  possessed;  most  of  Bainville's  boys 
had  gone. 

"A  wonderful  uplifting  influence,"  Mr. 
Williams  called  her,  and  refused  to  say  any- 
thing, even  when  directly  approached,  as 
to  "the  facts"  of  her  trouble.  "It  is  an  old 
story,"  he  would  say.  "She  bears  up  won- 
derfully. She  sacrifices  her  life  rather  than 
her  principles." 

To  Vivian,  sitting  now  on  a  hassock  at 
the  lady's  feet  and  looking  up  at  her  with 
adoring  eyes,  she  was  indeed  a  star,  a  saint, 
a  cloud  of  mystery. 

She  reached  out  a  soft  hand,  white,  slen- 
der, delicately  kept,  wearing  one  thin  gold 
ring,  and  stroked  the  girl's  smooth  hair. 


40  THE  CRUX 

Vivian  seized  the  hand  and  kissed  it,  blush- 
ing as  she  did  so. 

"You  foolish  child!  Don't  waste  your 
young  affection  on  an  old  lady  like  me." 

"Old!  You!  You  don't  look  as  old  as  I 
do  this  minute!"  said  the  girl  with  hushed 
intensity. 

"Life  wears  on  you,  I'm  afraid,  my  dear. 
.  .  .  Do  you  ever  hear  from  him?" 

To  no  one  else,  not  even  to  Susie,  could 
Vivian  speak  of  what  now  seemed  the 
tragedy  of  her  lost  youth. 

"No,"  said  she.  "Never  now.  He  did 
write  once  or  twice — at  first." 

"He  writes  to  his  aunt,  of  course?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vivian.  "But  not  often. 
And  he  never — says  anything." 

"I  understand.  Poor  child!  You  must 
be  true,  and  wait."  And  the  lady  turned 
the  thin  ring  on  her  finger.  Vivian  watched 
her  in  a  passion  of  admiring  tenderness. 

"Oh,  you  understand!"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  understand!" 

"I  understand,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud. 

When  Vivian  reached  her  own  gate  she 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  41 

leaned  her  arms  upon  it  and  looked  first  one 
way  and  then  the  other,  down  the  long,  still 
street.  The  country  was  in  sight  at  both 
ends — the  low,  monotonous,  wooded  hills 
that  shut  them  in.  It  was  all  familiar,  wear- 
ingly  familiar.  She  had  known  it  continu-V 
ously  for  such  part  of  her  lifetime  as  was 
sensitive  to  landscape  effects,  and  had  at 
times  a  mad  wish  for  an  earthquake  to 
change  the  outlines  a  little. 

The  infrequent  trolley  car  passed  just 
then  and  Sue  Elder  joined  her,  to  take  the 
short  cut  home  through  the  Lane's  yard. 

"Here  you  are,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "and 
here  are  the  books." 

Vivian  thanked  her. 

"Oh,  say — come  in  after  supper,  canl: 
you?  Aunt  Rella's  had  another  letter  from 
Mort." 

Vivian's  sombre  eyes  lit  up  a  little. 

"How's  he  getting  on?  In  the  same  busi- 
ness he  was  last  year?"  she  asked  with  an 
elaborately  cheerful  air.  Morton  had 
seemed  to  change  occupations  oftener  than 
he  wrote  letters. 

"Yes,  I  believe  so.    I  guess  he's  well.    He 


42  THE  CRUX 

never  says  much,  you  know.  I  don't  think 
it's  good  for  him  out  there — good  for  any 
boy."  And  Susie  looked  quite  the  older 
sister. 

"What  are  they  to  do?  They  can't  stay 
here." 

"No,  I  suppose  not — but  we  have  to." 

"Dr.  Bellair  didn't,"  remarked  Vivian. 
"I  like  her — tremendously,  don't  you?"  In 
truth,  Dr.  Bellair  was  already  a  close  sec- 
ond to  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  in  the  girl's  hero- 
worshipping  heart. 

"Oh,  yes;  she's  splendid!  Aunt  Rella  is 
so  glad  to  have  her  with  us.  They  have 
great  times  recalling  their  school  days  to- 
gether. Aunty  used  to  like  her  then,  though 
she  is  five  years  older — but  you'd  never 
dream  it.  And  I  think  she's  real  hand- 


some." 


"She's  not  beautiful,"  said  Vivian,  with 
decision,  "but  she's  a  lot  better.  Sue  Elder, 
I  wish- 

"Wish  what?"  asked  her  friend. 

Sue  put  the  books  on  the  gate-post,  and 
the  two  girls,  arm  in  arm,  walked  slowly  up 
and  down. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  43 

Susie  was  a  round,  palely  rosy  little  per- 
son, with  a  delicate  face  and  soft,  light  hair 
waving  fluffily  about  her  small  head.  Vivian's 
hair  was  twice  the  length,  but  so  straight 
and  fine  that  its  mass  had  no  effect.  She 
wore  it  in  smooth  plaits  wound  like  a  wreath 
from;  brow  to  nape. 

After  an  understanding  silence  and  a  walk 
past  three  gates  and  back  again,  Vivian 
answered  her. 

"I  wish  I  were  in  your  shoes,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean — having  the  Doctor 
in  the  house?" 

"No — I'd  like  that  too;  but  I  mean  work 
to  do — your  position." 

"Oh,  the  library!  You  needn't;  it's  hor- 
rid. I  wish  I  were  in  your  shoes,  and  had 
a  father  and  mother  to  take  care  of  me.  I 
can  tell  you,  it's  no  fun — having  to  be  there 
just  on  time  or  get  fined,  and  having  to  poke 
away  all  day  with  those  phooty  old  ladies 
and  tiresome  children." 

"But  you're  independent." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  independent.  I  have  to  be. 
Aunt  Rella  could  take  care  of  me,  I  sup- 
pose, but  of  course  I  wouldn't  let  her.  And 


44  THE  CRUX 

I  dare  say  library  work  is  better  than  school- 
teaching." 

"What '11  we  be  doing  when  we're  forty, 
I  wonder?"  said  Vivian,  after  another  turn. 

"Forty!  Why  I  expect  to  be  a  grandma 
by  that  time,"  said  Sue.  She  was  but 
twenty-one,  and  forty  looked  a  long  way  off 
to  her. 

"A  grandma!  And  knit?"  suggested 
Vivian. 

"Oh,  yes — baby  jackets — and  blankets— 
and   socks — and   little   shawls.      I   love   to 
knit,"  said  Sue,  cheerfully. 

"But  suppose  you  don't  marry?"  pur- 
sued her  friend. 

"Oh,  but  I  shall  marry — you  see  if  I  don't. 
Marriage" — here  she  carefully  went  inside 
the  gate  and  latched  it — "marriage  is — a 
woman's  duty!"  And  she  ran  up  the  path 
laughing. 

Vivian  laughed  too,  rather  grimly,  and 
slowly  walked  towards  her  own  door. 

The  little  sitting-room  was  hot,  very  hot; 
but  Mr.  Lane  sat  with  his  carpet-slippered 
feet  on  its  narrow  hearth  with  a  shawl  around 
him. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  45 

"Shut  the  door,  Vivian!"  he  exclaimed 
irritably.  "I'll  never  get  over  this  cold  if 
such  draughts  are  let  in  on  me." 

"Why,  it's  not  cold  out,  Father — and  it's 
very  close  in  here." 

Mrs.  Lane  looked  up  from  her  darning. 
"You  think  it's  close  because  you've  come 
in  from  outdoors.  Sit  down — and  don't  fret 
your  father;  I'm  real  worried  about 
him." 

Mr.  Lane  coughed  hollowly.  He  had  be- 
come a  little  dry  old  man  with  gray,  glassy 
eyes,  and  had  been  having  colds  in  this 
fashion  ever  since  Vivian  could  remem- 
ber. 

"Dr.  Bellair  says  that  the  out-door  air  is 
the  best  medicine  for  a  cold,"  remarked  Viv- 
ian, as  she  took  off  her  things. 

"Dr.  Bellair  has  not  been  consulted  in  this 
case,"  her  father  returned  wheezingly.  "I'm 
quite  satisfied  with  my  family  physician. 
He's  a  man,  at  any  rate." 

"Save  me  from  these  women  doctors!" 
evclaimed  his  wife. 

Vivian  set  her  lips  patiently.  She  had 
long  since  learned  how  widely  she  differed 


46  THE  CRUX 

from  both  father  and  mother,  and  preferred 
silence  to  dispute. 

Mr.  Lane  was  a  plain,  ordinary  person, 
who  spent  most  of  a  moderately  useful  life 
in  the  shoe  business,  from  which  he  had  of 
late  withdrawn.  Both  he  and  his  wife  "had 
property"  to  a  certain  extent;  and  now  lived 
peacefully  on  their  income  with  neither  fear 
nor  hope,  ambition  nor  responsibility  to 
trouble  them.  The  one  thing  they  were  yet 
anxious  about  was  to  see  Vivian  married, 
but  this  wish  seemed  to  be  no  nearer  to  ful- 
fillment for  the  passing  years. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  women  are  think- 
ing of,  these  days,"  went  on  the  old  gentle- 
man, putting  another  shovelful  of  coal  on  the 
fire  with  a  careful  hand.  "Doctors  and  law- 
yers and  even  ministers,  some  of  'em!  The 
Lord  certainly  set  down  a  woman's  duty 
pretty  plain— she  was  to  cleave  unto  her 
husband!" 

"Some  women  have  no  husbands  to  cleave 
to,  Father." 

"They'd  have  husbands  fast  enough  if 
they'd  behave  themselves,"  he  answered. 
"No  man's  going  to  want  to  marry  one  of 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  47 

these  self-sufficient  independent,  profes- 
sional women,  of  course." 

"I  do  hope,  Viva,"  said  her  mother,  "that 
you're  not  letting  that  Dr.  Bellair  put  fool- 
ish ideas  into  your  head." 

"I  want  to  do  something  to  support  my- 
self— sometime,  Mother.  I  can't  live  on  my 
parents  forever." 

"You  be  patient,  child.  There's  money 
enough  for  you  to  live  on.  It's  a  woman's 
place  to  wait,"  put  in  Mr.  Lane. 

"How  long?"  inquired  Vivian.  "I'm 
twenty-five.  No  man  has  asked  me  to  marry 
him  yet.  Some  of  the  women  in  this  town 
have  waited  thirty — forty — fifty — sixty 
years.  No  one  has  asked  them." 

"I  was  married  at  sixteen,"  suddenly  re- 
marked Vivian's  grandmother.  "And  my 
mother  wasn't  but  fifteen.  Huh!"  A  sud- 
den little  derisive  noise  she  made;  such  as 
used  to  be  written  "humph!" 

For  the  past  five  years,  Mrs.  Pettigrew 
had  made  her  home  with  the  Lanes.  Mrs. 
Lane  herself  was  but  a  feeble  replica  of  her 
energetic  parent.  There  was  but  seventeen 
years  difference  in  their  ages,  and  compara- 


48  THE  CRUX 

tive  idleness  with  some  ill-health  on  the  part 
of  the  daughter,  had  made  the  difference 
appear  less. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  had  but  a  poor  opinion  of 
the  present  generation.  In  her  active  youth 
she  had  reared  a  large  family  on  a  small  in- 
come; in  her  active  middle-age,  she  had 
trotted  about  from  daughter's  house  to  son's 
house,  helping  with  the  grandchildren.  And 
now  she  still  trotted  about  in  all  weathers, 
visiting  among  the  neighbors  and  vibrating 
as  regularly  as  a  pendulum  between  her 
daughter's  house  and  the  public  library. 

The  books  she  brought  homle  were  mainly 
novels,  and  if  she  perused  anything  else  in 
the  severe  quiet  of  the  reading-room,  she 
did  not  talk  about  it.  Indeed,  it  was  a 
striking  characteristic  of  Mrs.  Pettigrew 
that  she  talked  very  little,  though  she  lis- 
tened to  all  that  went  on  with  a  bright  and 
beady  eye,  as  of  a  highly  intelligent  parrot. 
And  now,  having  dropped  her  single  remark 
into  the  conversation,  she  shut  her  lips  tight 
as  was  her  habit,  and  drew  another  ball  of 
worsted  from  the  black  bag  that  always 
hung  at  her  elbow. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  49 

She  was  making  one  of  those  perennial 
knitted  garments,  which,  in  her  young  days, 
were  called  "Cardigan  jackets,"  later  "Jer- 
seys," and  now  by  the  offensive  name  of 
"sweater."  These  she  constructed  in  great 
numbers,  and  their  probable  expense  was 
a  source  of  discussion  in  the  town.  "How 
do  you  find  friends  enough  to  give  them  to?" 
they  asked  her,  and  she  would  smile  enig- 
matically and  reply,  "Good  presents  make 
good  friends." 

"If  a  woman  minds  her  P's  and  jQ's  she 
can  get  a  husband  easy  enough,"  insisted  the 
invalid.  "Just  shove  that  lamp  nearer,  Viv- 
ian, will  you." 

Vivian  moved  the  lamp.  Her  mother 
moved  her  chair  to  follow  it  and  dropped 
her  darning  egg,  which  the  girl  handed  to 
her. 

"Supper's  ready,"  announced  a  hard-fea- 
tured middle-aged  woman,  opening  the  din- 
ing-room door. 

At  this  moment  the  gate  clicked,  and  a 
firm  step  was  heard  coming  up  the  path. 

"Gracious,  that's  the  minister!"  cried  Mrs. 
Lane.  "He  said  he'd  be  in  this  afternoon  if 


50  THE  CRUX 

he  got  time.    I  thought  likely  'twould  be  to 
supper." 

She  received  him  cordially,  and  insisted 
on  his  staying,  slipping  out  presently  to 
open  a  jar  of  quinces. 

The  Reverend  Otis  Williams  was  by  no 
means  loathe  to  take  occasional  meals  with 
his  parishioners.  It  was  noted  that,  in  mak- 
ing pastoral  calls,  he  began  with  the  poorer 
members  of  his  flock,  and  frequently  arrived 
about  meal-time  at  the  houses  of  those  whose 
cooking  he  approved. 

"It  is  always  a  treat  to  take  supper  here," 
he  said.  "Not  feeling  well,  Mr.  Lane?  I'm 
sorry  to  hear  it.  Ah!  Mrs.  Pettigrew!  Is 
that  jacket  for  mje,  by  any  chance?  A  little 
sombre,  isn't  it?  Good  evening,  Vivian. 
You  are  looking  well — as  you  always  do." 

Vivian  did  not  like  him.  He  had  married 
her  mother,  he  had  christened  her,  she  had 
"sat  under"  him  for  long,  dull,  uninter- 
rupted years ;  yet  still  she  didn't  like  him. 

"A  chilly  evening,  Mr.  Lane,"  he  pur- 
sued. 

"That's  what  I  say,"  his  host  agreed. 
"Vivian  says  it  isn't;  I  say  it  is." 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  51 

"Disagreement  in  the  family!  This  won't 
do,  Vivian,"  said  the  minister  jocosely. 
"Duty  to  parents,  you  know!  Duty  to 
parents!" 

"Does  duty  to  parents  alter  the  tempera- 
ture?" the  girl  asked,  in  a  voice  of  quiet 
sweetness,  yet  with  a  rebellious  spark  in  her 
soft  eyes. 

"Huh!"  said  her  grandmother — and 
dropped  her  gray  ball.  Vivian  picked  it  up 
and  the  old  lady  surreptitiously  patted  her. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  reverend  gentle- 
man to  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  "did  you  speak?" 

"No,"  said  the  old  lady,  "Seldom  do." 

"Silence  is  golden,  Mrs.  Pettigrew.  Si- 
lence is  golden.  Speech  is  silver,  but  silence 
is  golden.  It  is  a  rare  gift." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  set  her  lips  so  tightly  that 
they  quite  disappeared,  leaving  only  a  thin 
dented  line  in  her  smoothly  pale  face.  She 
was  called  by  the  neighbors  "wonderfully 
well  preserved,"  a  phrase  she  herself  de- 
spised. Some  visitor,  new  to  the  town,  had 
the  hardihood  to  use  it  to  her  face  once. 
"Huh!"  was  the  response.  "I'm  just 
sixty.  Henry  Haskins  and  George  Baker 


52  THE  CRUX 

and  Stephen  Doolittle  are  all  older 'n  I  am — 
and  still  doing  business,  doing  it  better'n  any 
of  the  young  folks  as  far  as  I  can  see.  You 
don't  compare  them  to  canned  pears,  do 
you?" 

Mr.  Williams  knew  her  value  in  church 
work,  and  took  no  umbrage  at  her  somewhat 
inimical  expression;  particularly  as  just 
then  Mrs.  Lane  appeared  and  asked  them  to 
walk  out  to  supper. 

Vivian  sat  among  them,  restrained  and 
courteous,  but  inwardly  at  war  with  her 
surroundings.  Here  was  her  mother,  busy, 
responsible,  serving  creamed  codfish  and  hot 
biscuit;  her  father,  eating  wheezily,  and 
finding  fault  with  the  biscuit,  also  with  the 
codfish;  her  grandmother,  bright-eyed,  thin- 
lipped  and  silent.  Vivian  got  on  well  with 
her  grandmother,  though  neither  of  them 
talked  much. 

"My  mother  used  to  say  that  the  perfect 
supper  was  cake,  preserves,  hot  bread,  and 
a  'relish,'  "  said  Mr.  Williams  genially.  "You 
have  the  perfect  supper,  Mrs.  Lane." 

"I'm  glad  if  you  enjoy  it,  I'm  sure,"  said 
that  lady.  "I'm  fond  of  a  bit  of  salt  myself." 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  53 

"And  what  are  you  reading  now,  Vivian," 
he  asked  paternally. 

"Ward,"  she  answered,  modestly  and 
briefly. 

"Ward?    Dr.  Ward  of  the  Centurion?" 

Vivian  smiled  her  gentlest. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied;  "Lester  F.  Ward, 
the  Sociologist." 

"Poor  stuff,  I  think!"  said  her  father. 
"Girls  have  no  business  to  read  such  things.'" 

"I  wish  you'd  speak  to  Vivian  about  it, 
Mr.  Williams.  She's  got  beyond  me,"  pro- 
tested her  mother. 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew.  "I'd  like 
some  more  of  that  quince,  Laura." 

"My  dear  young  lady,  you  are  not  reading 
books  of  which  your  parents  disapprove,  I 
hope?"  urged  the  minister. 

"Shouldn't  I— ever?"  asked  the  girl,  in 
her  soft,  disarming  manner.  "I'm  surely 
old  enough!" 

"The  duty  of  a  daughter  is  not  measured 
by  years,"  he  replied  sonorously.  "Does 
parental  duty  cease?  Are  you  not  yet  a 
child  in  your  father's  house?" 

"Is  a  daughter  always  a  child  if  she  lives 


54  THE.  CRUX 

at  home?"  inquired  the  girl,  as  one  seeking 
instruction. 

He  set  down  his  cup  and  wiped  his  lips, 
flushing  somewhat. 

"The  duty  of  a  daughter  begins  at  the 
age  when  she  can  understand  the  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong,"  he  said,  "and 
continues  as  long  as  she  is  blessed  with 
parents." 

"And  what  is  it?"  she  asked,  large-eyed, 
attentive. 

"What  is  it?"  he  repeated,  looking  at  her 
in  some  surprise.  "It  is  submission,  obed- 
ience— obedience." 

"I  see.  So  Mother  ought  to  obey  Grand- 
mother," she  pursued  meditatively,  and  Mrs. 
Pettigrew  nearly  choked  in  her  tea. 

Vivian  was  boiling  with  rebellion.  To  sit 
there  and  be  lectured  at  the  table,  to  have 
her  father  complain  of  her,  her  mother  in- 
vite pastoral  interference,  the  minister 
preach  like  that.  She  slapped  her  grand- 
mother's shoulder,  readjusted  the  little  knit 
shawl  on  the  straight  back — and  refrained 
from  further  speech. 

When  Mrs.  Pettigrew  could  talk,  she  de- 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  55 

manded  suddenly  of  the  minister,  "Have 
you  read  Campbell's  New  Theology?"  and 
from  that  on  they  were  all  occupied  in  list- 
ening to  Mr.  Williams'  strong,  clear  and 
extensive  views  on  the  subject — which  lasted 
into  the  parlor  again. 

Vivian  sat  for  awhile  in  the  chair  nearest 
the  window,  where  some  thin  thread  of  air 
might  possibly  leak  in,  and  watched  the 
minister  with  a  curious  expression.  All  her 
life  he  had  been  held  up  to  her  as  a  person 
to  honor,  as  a  man  of  irreproachable  char- 
acter, great  learning  and  wisdom.  Of  late 
she  found  with  a  sense  of  surprise  that  she 
did  not  honor  him  at  all.  He  seemed  to  her 
suddenly  like  a  relic  of  past  ages,  a  piece  of 
an  old  parchment — or  papyrus.  In  the  light 
of  the  studies  she  had  been  pursuing  in  the 
well-stored  town  library,  the  teachings  of 
this  worthy  old  gentleman  appeared  a  jum- 
ble of  age-old  traditions,  superimposed  one 
upon  another. 

"He's  a  palimpsest,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"and  a  poor  palimpsest  at  that." 

She  sat  with  her  shapely  hands  quiet  in 
her  lap  while  her  grandmother's    shining 


56  THE  CRUX 

needles  twinkled  in  the  dark  wool,  and  her 
mother's  slim  crochet  hook  ran  along  the 
widening  spaces  of  some  thin,  white,  fuzzy 
thing.  The  rich  powers  of  her  young  wo- 
manhood longed  for  occupation,  but  she 
could  never  hypnotize  herself  with  "fancy- 
work."  Her  work  must  be  worth  while.  She 
felt  the  crushing  cramp  and  loneliness  of  a 
young  mind,  really  stronger  than  those  about 
her,  yet  held  in  dumb  subjection.  She  could 
not  solace  herself  by  loving  them ;  her  father 
would  have  none  of  it,  and  her  mother  had 
small  use  for  what  she  called  "sentiment." 
All  her  life  Vivian  had  longed  for  more  lov- 
ing, both  to  give  and  take;  but  no  one  ever 
imagined  it  of  her,  she  was  so  quiet  and  re- 
pressed in  manner.  The  local  opinion  was 
that  if  a  woman  had  a  head,  she  could  not 
have  a  heart;  and  as  to  having  a  body — it 
was  indelicate  to  consider  such  a  thing. 

"I  mean  to  have  six  children,"  Vivian  had 
planned  when  she  was  younger.  "And  they 
shall  never  be  hungry  for  more  loving."  She 
meant  to  make  up  to  her  vaguely  imagined 
future  family  for  all  that  her  own  youth 
missed. 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  57 

Even  Grandma,  though  far  more  sympa- 
thetic in  temperament,  was  not  given  to 
demonstration,  and  Vivian  solaced  her  big, 
tender  heart  by  cuddling  all  the  babies  she 
could  reach,  and  petting  cats  and  dogs  when 
no  children  were  to  be  found. 

Presently  she  arose  and  bade  a  courteous 
goodnight  to  the  still  prolix  parson. 

"I'm  going  over  to  Sue's,"  she  said,  and 
went  out. 

•  ••••• 

There  was  a  moon  again — a  low,  large 
moon,  hazily  brilliant.  The  air  was  sweet 
with  the  odors  of  scarce-gone  Summer,  of 
coming  Autumn. 

The  girl  stood  still,  half-way  down  the 
path,  and  looked  steadily  into  that  silver 
radiance.  Moonlight  always  filled  her  heart 
with  a  vague  excitement,  a  feeling  that 
something  ought  to  happen — soon. 

This  flat,  narrow  life,  so  long,  so  end- 
lessly long — would  nothing  ever  end  it? 
Nine  years  since  Morton  went  away!  Nine 
years  since  the  strange,  invading  thrill  of 
her  first  kiss!  Back  of  that  was  only  child- 
hood; these  years  really  constituted  Life; 


58  THE  CRUX 

and  Life,  in  the  girl's  eyes,  was  a  dreary 
treadmill. 

She  was  externally  quiet,  and  by  con- 
science dutiful;  so  dutiful,  so  quiet,  so  with- 
out powers  of  expression,  that  the  ache  of 
an  unsatisfied  heart,  the  stir  of  young  am- 
bitions, were  wholly  unsuspected  by  those 
about  her.  A  studious,  earnest,  thoughtful 
girl — but  study  alone  does  not  supply  life's 
needs,  nor  does  such  friendship  as  her  life 
afforded. 

Susie  was  "a  dear" — Susie  was  Morton's 
sister,  and  she  was  very  fond  of  her.  But 
that  bright-haired  child  did  not  understand 
— could  not  understand — all  that  she  needed. 

Then  came  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  into  her  life, 
stirring  the  depths  of  romance,  of  the  buried 
past,  and  of  the  unborn  future.  From  her 
she  learned  to  face  a  life  of  utter  renuncia- 
tion, to  be  true,  true  to  her  ideals,  true  to 
her  principles,  true  to  the  past,  to  be  patient ; 
and  to  wait. 

So  strengthened,  she  had  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  such  possible  voice  of  admiration  as 
might  have  come  from  the  scant  member- 
ship of  the  Young  Men's  Bible  Class,  leav- 


BAINVILLE  EFFECTS  59 

ing  them  the  more  devoted  to  Scripture 
study.  There  was  no  thin  ring  to  turn  upon 
her  finger;  but,  for  lack  of  better  token,  she 
had  saved  the  rose  she  wore  upon  her  breast 
that  night,  keeping  it  hidden  among  her 
precious  things. 

And  then,  into  the  gray,  flat  current  of 
her  daily  life,  sharply  across  the  trend  of 
Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  soft  influence,  had  come 
a  new  force — Dr.  Bellair. 

Vivian  liked  her,  yet  felt  afraid,  a  slight, 
shivering  hesitancy  as  before  a  too  cold 
bath,  a  subtle  sense  that  this  breezy  woman, 
strong,  cheerful,  full  of  new  ideas,  if  not 
ideals,  and  radiating  actual  power,  power 
used  and  enjoyed,  might  in  some  way  change 
the  movement  of  her  life. 

Change  she  desired,  she  longed  for,  but 
dreaded  the  unknown. 

Slowly  she  followed  the  long  garden  path, 
paused  lingeringly  by  that  rough  garden 
seat,  went  through  and  closed  the  gate. 


60  THE  CRUX 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   OUTBREAK 

There  comes  a  time 

After  white  months  of  ice — 

Slow  months  of  ice — long  months  of  ice — 

There  comes  a  time  when  the  still  floods  below 

Rise,  lift,  and  overflow — 

Fast,  far  they  go. 

MISS  Orella  sat  in  her  low  armless 
rocker,  lifting  perplexed,  patient 
eyes  to  look  up  at  Dr.  Bellair. 
Dr.   Bellair   stood   squarely   before   her, 
stood    easily,    on    broad-soled,    low-heeled 
shoes,  and  looked  down  at  Miss  Orella ;  her 
eyes  were  earnest,  compelling,  full  of  hope 
and  cheer. 

"You  are  as  pretty  as  a  girl,  Orella,"  she 
observed  irrelevantly. 

Miss  Orella  blushed.  She  was  not  used  to 
compliments,  even  from  a  woman,  and  did 
not  know  how  to  take  them. 

"How  you  talk!"  she  murmured  shyly. 


THE  OUTBREAK  61 

"I  mean  to  talk,"  continued  the  doctor, 
* 'until  you  listen  to  reason." 

Reason  in  this  case,  to  Dr.  Bellair's  mind, 
lay  in  her  advice  to  Miss  Elder  to  come 
West  with  her — to  live. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can.  It's — it's  such  a 
Complete  Change." 

Miss  Orella  spoke  as  if  Change  were 
equivalent  to  Sin,  or  at  least  to  Danger. 

"Do  you  good.  As  a  physician,  I  can 
prescribe  nothing  better.  You  need  a  com- 
plete change  if  anybody  ever  did." 

"Why,  Jane!    I  am  quite  well." 

"I  didn't  say  you  were  sick.  But  you  are 
in  an  advanced  stage  of  arthritis  deformans 
of  the  soul.  The  whole  town's  got  it!" 

The  doctor  tramped  up  and  down  the  lit- 
tle room,  freeing  her  mind. 

"I  never  saw  such  bed-ridden  intellects  in 
my  life!  I  suppose  it  was  so  when  I  was  a 
child — and  I  was  too  young  to  notice  it.  But 
surely  it's  worse  now.  The  world  goes  faster 
and  faster  every  day,  the  people  who  keep 
still  get  farther  behind!  I'm  fond  of  you, 
Rella.  You've  got  an  intellect,  and  a  con- 
science, and  a  will — a  will  like  iron.  But 


62  THE  CRUX 

you  spend  most  of  your  strength  in  keeping 
yourself  down.  Now,  do  wake  up  and  use 
it  to  break  loose!  You  don't  have  to  stay 
here.  Come  out  to  Colorado  with  me — and 
Grow." 

Miss  Elder  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair. 
She  laid  her  small  embroidery  hoop  on  the 
table,  and  straightened  out  the  loose  threads 
of  silk,  the  doctor  watching  her  impatiently. 

"I'm  too  old,"  she  said  at  length. 

Jane  Bellair  laughed  aloud,  shortly. 

"Old!"  she  cried.  "You're  five  years 
younger  than  I  am.  You're  only  thirty-six! 
Old!  Why,  child,  your  life's  before  you — 
to  make." 

"You  don't  realize,  Jane.  You  struck 
out  for  yourself  so  young — and  you've 
grown  up  out  there — it  seems  to  be  so  dif- 
ferent—there." 

"It  is.  People  aren't  afraid  to  move. 
What  have  you  got  here  you  so  hate  to  leave, 
Rella?" 

"Why,  it's— Home." 

"Yes.  It's  home — now.  Are  you  happy 
in  it?" 

"I'm— contented/' 


THE  OUTBREAK  63 

"Don't  you  deceive  yourself,  Rella.  You 
are  not  contented — not  by  a  long  chalk. 
You  are  doing  your  duty  as  you  see  it;  and 
you've  kept  yourself  down  so  long  you've 
almost  lost  the  power  of  motion.  I'm  trying 
to  galvanize  you  awake — and  I  mean  to 
do  it." 

"You  imgnu  as  well  sit  down  while  you're 
doing  it,  anyway,"  Miss  Elder  suggested 
meekly. 

Dr.  Bellair  sat  down,  selecting  a  formid- 
able fiddle-backed  chair,  the  unflinching  de- 
termination of  its  widely-placed  feet  being 
repeated  by  her  own  square  toes.  She 
placed  herself  in  front  of  her  friend  and 
leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees,  her  strong, 
intelligent  hands  clasped  loosely. 

"What  have  you  got  to  look  forward  to, 
Rella?" 

"I  want  to  see  Susie  happily  mar- 
ried—" 

"I  said  you — not  Susie." 

"Oh — me?  Why,  I  hope  some  day  Mor- 
ton will  come  back 

"I  said  you — not  Morton." 

"Why  I — you  know  I  have  friends,  Jane 


6-1  THE  CRUX 

— and  neighbors.     And  some  day,  perhaps 
— I  mean  to  go  abroad." 

"Are  you  scolding  Aunt  Rella  again,  Dr. 
Bellair.  I  won't  stand  it."  Pretty  Susie 
stood  in  the  door  smiling. 

"Come  and  help  me  then,"  the  doctor  said, 
"and  it  won't  sound  so  much  like  scolding." 

"I  want  Mort's  letter — to  show  to  Viva," 
the  girl  answered,  and  slipped  out  with  it. 

She  sat  with  Vivian  on  the  stiff  little  sofa 
in  the  back  room;  the  arms  of  the  two  girls 
were  around  one  another,  and  they  read  the 
letter  together.  More  than  six  months  had 
passed  since  his  last  one. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  letter.  Vivian  took 
it  in  her  own  hands  and  went  through  it 
again,  carefully.  The  "Remember  me  to 
Viva— unless  she's  married,"  at  the  end  did 
not  seem  at  all  satisfying.  Still  it  might 
mean  more  than  appeared — far  more.  Men 
were  reticent  and  proud,  she  had  read.  It 
was  perfectly  possible  that  he  might  be  con- 
cealing deep  emotion  under  the  open  friend- 
liness. He  was  in  no  condition  to  speak 
freely,  to  come  back  and  claim  her.  He  did 
not  wish  her  to  feel  bound  to  him.  She  had 


THE  OUTBREAK  65 

discussed  it  with  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,  shrink- 
ingly,  tenderly,  led  on  by  tactful,  delicate, 
questions,  by  the  longing  of  her  longing 
heart  for  expression  and  sympathy. 

"A  man  who  cannot  marry  must  speak  of 
marriage — it  is  not  honorable,"  her  friend 
had  told  her. 

"Couldn't  he — write  to  me — as  a 
friend?" 

And  the  low-voiced  lady  had  explained 
with  a  little  sigh  that  men  thought  little  of 
friendship  with  women.  "I  have  tried,  all 
my  life,  to  be  a  true  and  helpful  friend  to 
men,  to  such  men  as  seemed  worthy,  and 
they  so  often — misunderstood." 

The  girl,  sympathetic  and  admiring, 
thought  hotly  of  how  other  people  misun- 
derstood this  noble,  lovely  soul;  how  they 
even  hinted  that  she  "tried  to  attract  men," 
a  deadly  charge  in  Bainville. 

"No,"  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  had  told  her,  "he 
might  love  you  better  than  all  the  world- 
yet  not  write  to  you — till  he  was  ready  to 
say  'come.'    And,  of  course,  he  wouldn't  say 
anything  in  his  letters  to  his  aunt." 

So  Vivian  sat  there,  silent,  weaving  frail 


66  THE  CRUX 

dreams  out  of  "remember  me  to  Viva — un- 
less she's  married."  That  last  clause  might 
mean  much. 

Dr.  Bellair's  voice  sounded  clear  and  .n- 
sistent  in  the  next  room. 

"She's  trying  to  persuade  Aunt  Rella  to 
go  West!"  said  Susie.  "Wouldn't  it  be 
funny  if  she  did!" 

In  Susie's  eyes  her  Aunt's  age  was  as  the 
age  of  mountains,  and  also  her  fixity.  Since 
she  could  remember,  Aunt  Rella,  always 
palely  pretty  and  neat,  like  the  delicate, 
faintly-colored  Spring  flowers  of  New  Eng- 
land, had  presided  over  the  small  white 
house,  the  small  green  garden  and  the  large 
black  and  white  school-room.  In  her  vaca- 
tion she  sewed,  keeping  that  quiet  wardrobe 
of  hers  in  exquisite  order — and  also  making 
Susie's  pretty  dresses.  To  think  of  Aunt 
Orella  actually  "breaking  up  housekeeping," 
giving  up  her  school,  leaving  Bainville,  was 
like  a  vision  of  trees  walking. 

To  Dr.  Jane  Bellair,  forty-one,  vigorous, 
successful,  full  of  new  plans  and  purposes, 
Miss  Elder's  life  appeared  as  an  arrested 
girlhood,  stagnating  unnecessarily  in  this 


THE  OUTBREAK  67 

quiet  town,  while  all  the  world  was  open  to 
her. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  leaving  Susie!"  pro- 
tested Miss  Orella. 

"Bring  her  along,"  said  the  doctor.  "Best 
thing  in  the  world  for  her !" 

She  rose  and  came  to  the  door.  The  two 
girls  make  a  pretty  picture.  Vivian's  oval 
face,  with  its  smooth  Madonna  curves  under 
the  encircling  wreath  of  soft,  dark  plaits, 
and  the  long  grace  of  her  figure,  delicately 
built,  yet  strong,  beside  the  pink,  plump  lit- 
tle Susie,  roguish  and  pretty,  with  the  look 
that  made  everyone  want  to  take  care  of  her. 

"Come  in  here,  girls,"  said  the  doctor.  "I 
want  you  to  help  me.  You're  young  enough 
to  be  movable,  I  hope." 

They  cheerfully  joined  the  controversy, 
but  Miss  Orella  found  small  support  in 
them. 

"Why  don't  you  do  it,  Auntie!"  Susie 
thought  it  an  excellent  joke.  "I  suppose  you 
could  teach  school  in  Denver  as  well  as  here. 
And  you  could  Vote !  Oh,  Auntie — to  think 
of  your  Voting!" 

Miss  Elder,  too  modestly  feminine,  too 


68  THE  CRUX 

inherently  conservative  even  to  be  an  out- 
spoken "Anti,"  fairly  blushed  at  the  idea. 

"She's  hesitating  on  your  account,"  Dr. 
Bellair  explained  to  the  girl.  "Wants  to 
see  you  safely  married!  I  tell  her  you'll 
have  a  thousandfold  better  opportunities  in 
Colorado  than  you  ever  will  here." 

Vivian  was  grieved.  She  had  heard 
enough  of  this  getting  married,  and  had  ex- 
pected Dr.  Bellair  to  hold  a  different  posi- 
tion. 

"Surely,  that's  not  the  only  thing  to  do," 
she  protested. 

"No,  but  it's  a  very  important  thing  to 
do — and  to  do  right.    It's  a  woman's  duty." 
Vivian  groaned  in  spirit.    That  again! 
The  doctor  watched  her  understandingly. 
"If  women  only  did  their  duty  in  that  line 
there  wouldn't  be  so  much  unhappiness  in 
the  world,"  she  said.    "All  you  New  Eng- 
land girls  sit  here  and  cut  one  another's 
throats.     You  can't  possible  marry,  your 
boys  go  West,  you  overcrowd  the  labor  mar- 
ket, lower  wages,  steadily  drive  the  weakest 
sisters  down  till  they — drop." 

They  heard  the  back  door  latch  lift  and 


THE  OUTBREAK  69 

close  again,  a  quick,  decided  step — and  Mrs. 
Pettigrew  joined  them. 

Miss  Elder  greeted  her  cordially,  and  the 
old  lady  seated  herself  in  the  halo  of  the 
big  lamp,  as  one  well  accustomed  to  the 
chair. 

"Go  right  on,"  she  said — and  knitted 
briskly. 

"Do  take  my  side,  Mrs.  Pettigrew,"  Miss 
Orella  implored  her.  "Jane  Bellair  is  try- 
ing to  pull  me  up  by  the  roots  and  trans- 
plant me  to  Colorado." 

"And  she  says  I  shall  have  a  better  chance 
to  marry  out  there — and  ought  to  do  it!" 
said  Susie,  very  solemnly.  "And  Vivian 
objects  to  being  shown  the  path  of  duty." 

Vivian  smiled.  Her  quiet,  rather  sad.  face 
lit  with  sudden  sparkling  beauty  when  she 
smjled. 

"Grandma  knows  I  hate  that — point  of 
view,"  she  said.  "I  think  men  and  women 
ought  to  be  friends,  and  not  always  be  think- 
ing about — that." 

"I  have  some  real  good  friends — boys,  I 
mean,"  Susie  agreed,  looking  so  serious  in 
her  platonic  boast  that  even  Vivian  was  a 


70  THE  CRUX 

little  amused,  and  Dr.  Bellair  laughed  out- 
right. 

"You  won't  have  a  'friend'  in  that  sense 
till  you're  fifty,  Miss  Susan — if  you  ever  do. 
There  can  be,  there  are,  real  friendships  be- 
tween men  and  women,  but  most  of  that  talk 
is — talk,  sometimes  worse. 

"I  knew  a  woman  once,  ever  so  long  ago," 
the  doctor  continued  musingly,  clasping  her 
hands  behind  her  head,  "  a  long  way  from 
here — in  a  college  town — who  talked  about 
'friends.'  She  was  married.  She  was  a 
'good'  woman — perfectly  'good'  woman. 
Her  husband  was  not  a  very  good  man,  I've 
heard,  and  strangely  impatient  of  her  vir- 
tues. She  had  a  string  of  boys — college 
boys — always  at  her  heels.  Quite  too  young 
and  too  charming  she  was  for  this  friendship 
game.  She  said  that  such  a  friendship  was 
'an  ennobling  influence'  for  the  boys.  She 
called  them  her  'acolytes.'  Lots  of  them 
were  fairly  mad  about  her — one  young  chap 
was  so  desperate  over  it  that  he  shot  him- 
self." 

There  was  a  pained  silence. 

"I  don't  see  what  this  has  to  do  with  going 


THE  OUTBREAK  71 

to  Colorado,"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  keen,  observing 
eye.  "What's  your  plan,  Dr.  Bellair?" 

"Why,  I'm  trying  to  persuade  my  old 
friend  here  to  leave  this  place,  change  her 
occupation,  come  out  to  Colorado  with  me, 
and  grow  up.  She's  a  case  of  arrested  de- 
velopment." 

"She  wants  me  to  keep  boarders!"  Miss 
Elder  plaintively  protested  to  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew. 

That  lady  was  not  impressed. 

"It's  quite  a  different  matter  out  there, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew,"  the  doctor  explained. 
"  'Keeping  boarders'  in  this  country  goes  to 
the  tune  of  'Come  Ye  Disconsolate!'  It's  a 
doubtful  refuge  for  women  who  are  widows 
or  would  be  better  off  if  they  were.  Where 
I  live  it's  a  sure  thing  if  well  managed — it's 
a  good  business." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  wore  an  unconvinced 
aspect. 

"What  do  you  call  'a  good  business?" 
she  asked. 

"The  house  I  have  in  mind  cleared  a  thou- 
sand a  year  when  it  was  in  right  hands. 


72  THE  CRUX 

That's  not  bad,  over  and  above  one's  board 
and  lodging.  That  house  is  in  the  market 
now.  I've  just  had  a  letter  from  a  friend 
about  it.  Orella  could  go  out  with  me,  and 
step  right  into  Mrs.  Annerly's  shoes — she's 
just  giving  up." 

"What'd  she  give  up  for?"  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew  inquired  suspiciously. 

"Oh — she  got  married;  they  all  do.  There 
are  three  men  to  one  woman  in  that  town, 
you  see." 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  place  in 
the  world — unless  it  was  a  man-of-war,"  re- 
marked Susie,  looking  much  interested. 

Dr.  Bellair  went  on  more  quietly. 

"It's  not  even  a  risk,  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 
Rella  has  a  cousin  who  would  gladly  run 
this  house  for  her.  She's  admitted  that 
much.  So  there's  no  loss  here,  and  she's  got 
her  home  to  come  back  to.  I  can  write  to 
Dick  Hale  to  nail  the  proposition  at  once. 
She  can  go  when  I  go,  in  about  a  fortnight, 
and  I'll  guarantee  the  first  year  defi- 
nitely." 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  letting  you  do  that, 
Jane !  And  if  it's  as  good  as  you  say,  there's 


THE  OUTBREAK  73 

no  need.  But  a  fortnight!  To  leave  home 
— in  a  fortnight!" 

"What  are  the  difficulties?"  the  old  lady 
inquired.  "There  are  always  some  difficul- 
ties." 

"You  are  right,  there,"  agreed  the  doctor. 
"The  difficulties  in  this  place  are  servants. 
But  just  now  there's  a  special  chance  in  that 
line.  Dick  says  the  best  cook  in  town  is 
going  begging.  I'll  read  you  his  letter." 

She  produced  it,  promptly,  from  the 
breast  pocket  of  her  neat  coat.  Dr.  Bellair 
wore  rather  short,  tailored  skirts  of  first- 
class  material;  natty,  starched  blouses — silk 
ones  for  "dress,"  and  perfectly  fitting  light 
coats.  Their  color  and  texture  might  vary 
with  the  season,  but  their  pockets,  never. 

"  'My  dear  Jane'  (This  is  my  best  friend 
out  there — a  doctor,  too.  We  were  in  the 
same  class,  both  college  and  medical  school. 
We  fight — he's  a  misogynist  of  the  worst 
type — but  we're  good  friends  all  the  same.) 
'Why  don't  you  come  back?  My  boys  are 
lonesome  without  you,  and  I  am  overworked 
— you  left  so  many  mishandled  invalids  for 
me  to  struggle  with.  Your  boarding  house 


74  THE  CRUX 

is  going  to  the  dogs.  Mrs.  Annerly  got 
worse  and  worse,  failed  completely  and  has 
cleared  out,  with  a  species  of  husband,  I  be- 
lieve. The  owner  has  put  in  a  sort  of  care- 
taker, and  the  roomers  get  board  outside — 
it's  better  than  what  they  were  having. 
Moreover,  the  best  cook  in  town  is  hunting 
a  job.  Wire  me  and  I'll  nail  her.  You 
know  the  place  pays  well.  Now,  why  don't 
you  give  up  your  unnatural  attempt  to  be 
a  doctor  and  assume  woman's  proper 
sphere?  Come  back  and  keep  house!' 

"He's  a  great  tease,  but  he  tells  the  truth. 
The  house  is  there,  crying  to  be  kept.  The 
boarders  are  there — unfed.  Now,  Orella 
Elder,  why  don't  you  wake  up  and  seize  the 
opportunity?" 

Miss  Orella  was  thinking. 

"Where's  that  last  letter  of  Morton's?" 

Susie  looked  for  it.  Vivian  handed  it  to 
her,  and  Miss  Elder  read  it  once  more. 

"There's  plenty  of  homeless  boys  out  there 
besides  yours,  Orella,"  the  doctor  assured 
her.  "Come  on — and  bring  both  these  girls 
with  you.  It's  a  chance  for  any  girl,  Miss 
Lane." 


THE  OUTBREAK  75 

But  her  friend  did  not  hear  her.  She 
found  what  she  was  looking  for  in  the  letter 
and  read  it  aloud.  "I'm  on  the  road  again 
now,  likely  to  be  doing  Colorado  most  of 
the  year  if  things  go  right.  It's  a  fine 
country." 

Susie  hopped  up  with  a  little  cry. 

"Just  the  thing,  Aunt  Rella!  Let's  go 
out  and  surprise  Mort.  He  thinks  we  are 
just  built  into  the  ground  here.  Won't  it 
be  fun,  Viva?" 

Vivian  had  risen  from  her  seat  and  stood 
at  the  window,  gazing  out  with  unseeing 
eyes  at  the  shadowy  little  front  yard.  Mor- 
ton might  be  there.  She  might  see  him.  But 
— was  it  womanly  to  go  there — for  that? 
There  were  others  reasons,  surely.  She  had 
longed  for  freedom,  for  a  chance  to  grow,  to 
do  something  in  life — something  great  and 
beautiful !  Perhaps  this  was  the  opening  of 
the  gate,  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime. 

"You  folks  are  so  strong  on  duty,"  the 
doctor  was  saying,  "Why  can't  you  see  a  real 
duty  in  this?  I  tell  you,  the  place  is  full  of 
men  that  need  mothering,  and  sistering — 
good  honest  sweethearting  and  marrying, 


76  THE  CRUX 

too.  Come  on,  Rella.  Do  bigger  work  than 
you've  ever  done  yet — and,  as  I  said,  bring 
both  these  nice  girls  with  you.  What  do 
you  say,  Miss  Lane?" 

Vivian  turned  to  her,  her  fine  face  flushed 
with  hope,  yet  with  a  small  Greek  fret  on 
the  broad  forehead. 

"I'd  like  to,  very  much,  Dr.  Bellair — on 

some  accounts.  But '  She  could  not 

quite  voice  her  dim  objections,  her  obscure 
withdrawals;  and  so  fell  back  on  the  excuse 
of  childhood — "I'm  sure  Mother  wouldn't 
let  me." 

Dr.  Bellair  smiled  broadly. 

"Aren't  you  over  twenty-one?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  twenty-five,"  the  girl  replied,  with 
proud  acceptance  of  a  life  long  done — as  one 
who  owned  to  ninety-seven. 

"And  self-supporting?"  pursued  the  doc- 
tor. 

Vivian  flushed. 

"No — not  yet,"  she  answered;  "but  I 
mean  to  be." 

"Exactly!  Now's  your  chance.  Break 
away  now,  my  dear,  and  come  West.  You 
can  get  work — start  a  kindergarten,  or 


THE  OUTBREAK  77 

something.    I  know  you  love  children." 

The  girl's  heart  rose  within  her  in  a  great 
throb  of  hope. 

"Oh — if  I  could!"  she  exclaimed,  and  even 
as  she  said  it,  rose  half -conscious  memories 
of  the  low,  sweet  tones  of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud. 
"It  is  a  woman's  place  to  wait — and  to  en- 
dure." 

She  heard  a  step  on  the  walk  outside — 
looked  out. 

"Why,  here  is  Mrs.  St.  Cloud!"  she  cried. 

"Guess  I'll  clear  out,"  said  the  doctor,  as 
Susie  ran  to  the  door.  She  was  shy,  socially. 

"Nonsense,  Jane,"  said  her  hostess, 
whispering.  "Mrs.  St.  Cloud  is  no  stranger. 
She's  Mrs.  Williams'  sister — been  here  for 
years." 

She  came  in  at  the  word,  her  head  and 
shoulders  wreathed  in  a  pearl  gray  shining 
veil,  her  soft  long  robe  held  up. 

"I  saw  your  light,  Miss  Elder,  and 
thought  I'd  stop  in  for  a  moment.  Good 
evening,  Mrs.  Pettigrew — and  Miss  Susie. 
Ah!  Vivian!" 

"This  is  my  friend,  Dr.  Bellair— Mrs.  St. 
Cloud,"  Miss  Elder  was  saying.  But  Dr. 


78  THE  CRUX 

Bellair  bowed  a  little  stiffly,  not  coming  for- 
ward. 

"I've  met  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  before,  I  think 
— when  she  was  'Mrs.  James.' ' 

The  lady's  face  grew  sad. 

"Ah,  you  knew  my  first  husband!  I  lost 
him — many  years  ago — typhoid  fever." 

"I  think  I  heard,"  said  the  doctor.  And 
then,  feeling  that  some  expression  of  sym- 
pathy was  called  for,  she  added,  "Too  bad." 

Not  all  Miss  Elder's  gentle  hospitality, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew's  bright  -  eyed  interest, 
Susie's  efforts  at  polite  attention,  and  Viv- 
ian's visible  sympathy  could  compensate 
Mrs.  St.  Cloud  for  one  inimical  presence. 

"You  must  have  been  a  mere  girl  in  those 
days,"  she  said  sweetly.  "What  a  lovely 
little  town  it  was — under  the  big  trees." 

"It  certainly  was,"  the  doctor  answered 
dryly. 

"There  is  such  a  fine  atmosphere  in  a  col- 
lege town,  I  think,"  pursued  the  lady. 
"Especially  in  a  co-educational  town — don't 
you  think  so?" 

Vivian  was  a  little  surprised.  She  had 
had  an  idea  that  her  admired  friend  did  not 


THE  OUTBREAK  79 

approve  of  co-education.  She  must  have 
been  mistaken. 

"Such  a  world  of  old  memories  as  you  call 
up,  Dr.  Bellair,"  their  visitor  pursued. 
"Those  quiet,  fruitful  days !  You  remember 
Dr.  Black's  lectures?  Of  course  you  do, 
better  than  I.  What  a  fine  man  he  was! 
And  the  beautiful  music  club  we  had  one 
Winter — and  my  little  private  dancing  class 
— do  you  remember  that?  Such  nice  boys, 
Miss  Elder!  I  used  to  call  them  my 
acolytes." 

Susie  gave  a  little  gulp,  and  coughed  to 
cover  it. 

"I  guess  you'll  have  to  excuse  me,  ladies," 
said  Dr.  Bellair.  "Good-night."  And  she 
walked  upstairs. 

Vivian's  face  flushed  and  paled  and  flush- 
ed again.  A  cold  pain  was  trying  to  enter 
her  heart,  and  she  was  trying  to  keep  it 
out.  Her  grandmother  glanced  sharply 
from  one  face  to  the  other. 

"Glad  to've  met  you,  Mrs.  St.  Cloud," 
she  said,  bobbing  up  with  decision.  "Good- 
night, Rella — and  Susie.  Come  on  child.  It's 
a  wonder  your  mother  hasn't  sent  after  us." 


80  THE  CRUX 

For  once  Vivian  was  glad  to  go. 

"That's  a  good  scheme  of  Jane  Bellair's, 
don't  you  think  so?"  asked  the  old  lady  as 
they  shut  the  gate  behind  them. 

"I — why  yes — I  don't  see  why  not." 

Vivian  was  still  dizzy  with  the  blow  to  her 
heart's  idol.  All  the  soft,  still  dream-world 
she  had  so  labored  to  keep  pure  and  beautiful 
seemed  to  shake  and  waver  swimmingly. 
She  could  not  return  to  it.  The  flat  white 
face  of  her  home  loomed  before  her,  square, 
hard,  hideously  unsympathetic — 

"Grandma,"  said  she,  stopping  that  lady 
suddenly  and  laying  a  pleading  hand  on  her 
arm,  "Grandma,  I  believe  I'll  go." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  nodded  decisively. 

"I  thought  you  would,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  blame  me,  Grandma?" 

"Not  a  mite,  child.  Not  a  mite.  But  I'd 
sleep  on  it,  if  I  were  you." 

And  Vivian  slept  on  it — so  far  as  she 
slept  at  all. 


TRANSPLANTED  81 


CHAPTER  IV 

TRANSPLANTED 

Sometimes  a  plant  in  its  own  habitat 

Is  overcrowded,  starved,  oppressed  and  daunted; 

A  palely  feeble  thing;  yet  rises  quickly, 

Growing  in  height  and  vigor,  blooming  thickly, 
When   far  transplanted. 

THE  days  between  Vivian's  decision 
and  her  departure  were  harder  than 
she  had  foreseen.     It  took  some 
courage  to  make  the  choice.    Had  she  been 
alone,   independent,   quite   free  to   change, 
the  move  would  have  been  difficult  enough; 
but  to  make  her  plan  and  hold  to  it  in  the 
face  of  a  disapproving  town,  and  the  definite 
opposition  of  her  parents,  was  a  heavy  un- 
dertaking. 

By  habit  she  would  have  turned  to  Mrs. 
St.  Cloud  for  advice;  but  between  her  and 
that  lady  now  rose  the  vague  image  of  a 
young  boy,  dead, — she  could  never  feel  the 
same  to  her  again. 


82  THE  CRUX 

Dr.  Bellair  proved  a  tower  of  strength. 
"My  dear  girl,"  she  would  say  to  her,  pa- 
tiently, but  with  repressed  intensity,  "do 
remember  that  you  are  not  a  child!  You  are 
twenty-five  years  old.  You  are  a  grown 
woman,  and  have  as  much  right  to  decide  for 
yourself  as  a  grown  man.  This  isn't  wicked 
— it  is  a  wise  move ;  a  practical  one.  Do  you 
want  to  grow  up  like  the  rest  of  the  useless 
single  women  in  this  little  social  cemetery?" 

Her  mother  took  it  very  hard.  "I  don't 
see  how  you  can  think  of  leaving  us.  We're 
getting  old  now — and  here's  Grandma  to 
take  care  of " 

"Huh!"  said  that  lady,  with  such  marked 
emphasis  that  Mrs.  Lane  hastily  changed 
the  phrase  to  "I  mean  to  be  with — you  do 
like  to  have  Vivian  with  you,  you  can't  deny 
that,  Mother." 

"But  Mama,"  said  the  girl,  "you  are  not 
old;  you  are  only  forty-three.  I  am  sorry 
to  leave  you — I  am  really;  but  it  isn't  for- 
ever! I  can  come  back.  And  you  don't 
really  need  me.  Sarah  runs  the  house  ex- 
actly as  you  like;  you  don't  depend  on  me 
for  a  thing,  and  never  did.  As  to  Grandma! 


TRANSPLANTED  83 

; — and  she  looked  affectionately  at  the  old 
lady — "she  don't  need  me  nor  anybody  else. 
She's  independent  if  ever  anybody  was.  She 
won't  miss  me  a  mite — will  you  Grandma?" 
Mrs.  Pettigrew  looked  at  her  for  a  moment, 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  tucked  in  tightly. 
"No,"  she  said,  "I  shan't  miss  you  a  mite !" 

Vivian  was  a  little  grieved  at  the  prompt 
acquiescence.  She  felt  nearer  to  her  grand- 
mother in  many  ways  than  to  either  parent. 
"Well,  I'll  miss  you!"  said  she,  going  to  her 
and  kissing  her  smooth  pale  cheek,  "I'll  miss 
you  awfully!" 

Mr.  Lane  expressed  his  disapproval  most 
thoroughly,  and  more  than  once;  then  re- 
tired into  gloomy  silence,  alternated  with 
violent  dissuasion;  but  since  a  woman  of 
twenty-five  is  certainly  free  to  choose  her 
way  of  life,  and  there  was  no  real  objection 
to  this  change,  except  that  it  was  a  change, 
and  ^  therefore  dreaded,  his  opposition, 
though  unpleasant,  was  not  prohibitive. 
Vivian's  independent  fortune  of  $87.50,  the 
savings  of  many  years,  made  the  step  pos- 
sible, even  without  his  assistance. 

There  were  two  weeks  of  exceeding  dis- 


84  THE  CRUX 

agreeableness  in  the  household,  but  Vivian 
kept  her  temper  and  her  determination  under 
a  rain  of  tears,  a  hail  of  criticism,  and  heavy 
wind  of  argument  and  exhortation.  All  her 
friends  and  neighbors,  and  many  who  were 
neither,  joined  in  the  effort  to  dissuade  her; 
but  she  stood  firm  as  the  martyrs  of  old. 

Heredity  plays  strange  tricks  with  us. 
Somewhere  under  the  girl's  dumb  gentleness 
and  patience  lay  a  store  of  quiet  strength 
from  some  Pilgrim  Father  or  Mother. 
Never  before  had  she  set  her  will  against 
her  parents;  conscience  had  always  told  her 
to  submit.  Now  conscience  told  her  to  rebel, 
and  she  did.  She  made  her  personal  ar- 
rangements, said  goodbye  to  her  friends,  de- 
clined to  discuss  with  anyone,  was  sweet  and 
quiet  and  kind  at  home,  and  finally  appeared 
at  the  appointed  hour  on  the  platform  of 
the  little  station. 

Numbers  of  curious  neighbors  were  there 
to  see  them  off,  all  who  knew  them  and  could 
spare  the  time  seemed  to  be  on  hand.  Viv- 
ian's mother  came,  but  her  father  did  not. 

At  the  last  moment,  just  as  the  train  drew 
in,  Grandma  appeared,  jserene  and  brisk, 


TRANSPLANTED  85 

descending,  with  an  impressive  amount  of 
hand  baggage,  from  "the  hack." 

"Goodbye,  Laura,"  she  said.  "I  think 
these  girls  need  a  chaperon.  I'm  going  too." 

So  blasting  was  the  astonishment  caused 
by  this  proclamation,  and  so  short  a  time 
remained  to  express  it,  that  they  presently 
found  themselves  gliding  off  in  the  big  Pull- 
man, all  staring  at  one  another  in  silent 
amjazement. 

"I  hate  discussion,"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 
•          ••••• 

None  of  these  ladies  were  used  to  travel- 
ing, save  Dr.  Bellair,  who  had  made  the 
cross  continent  trip  often  enough  to  think 
nothing  of  it. 

The  unaccustomed  travelers  found  much 
excitement  in  the  journey.  As  women,  em- 
barking on  a  new,  and,  in  the  eyes  of  their 
friends,  highly  doubtful  enterprise,  they 
had  emotion  to  spare;  and  to  be  confronted 
at  the  outset  by  a  totally  unexpected  grand- 
mother was  too  much  for  immediate  com- 
prehension. 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  spark- 
ling, triumphant. 


86  THE  CRUX 

"I  made  up  my  mind,  same  as  you  did, 
hearing  Jane  Bellair  talk,"  she  explained. 
"Sounded  like  good  sense.  I  always  wanted 
to  travel,  always,  and  never  had  the  oppor- 
tunity. This  was  a  real  good  chance."  Her 
mouth  shut,  tightened,  widened,  drew  into 
a  crinkly  delighted  smile. 

They  sat  still  staring  at  her. 

"You  needn't  look  at  me  like  that!  I 
guess  it's  a  free  country!  I  bought  my  ticket 
—sent  for  it  same  as  you  did.  And  I  didn't 
have  to  ask  anybody — I'm  no  daughter. 
My  duty,  as  far  as  I  know  it,  is  done!  This 
is  a  pleasure  trip!" 

She  was  triumph  incarnate. 

"And  you  never  said  a  word!"  This  from 
Vivian. 

"Not  a  word.  Saved  lots  of  trouble. 
Take  care  of  me  indeed!  Laura  needn't 
think  I'm  dependent  on  her  yet!" 

Vivian's  heart  rather  yearned  over  her 
mother,  thus  doubly  bereft. 

"The  truth  is,"  her  grandmother  went  on, 
"Samuel  wants  to  go  to  Florida  the  worst 
way;  I  heard  'em  talking  about  it!  He 
wasn't  willing  to  go  alone — not  he!  Wants 


TRANSPLANTED  87 

somebody  to  hear  him  cough,  I  say!  And 
Laura  couldn't  go — 'Mother  was  so  depend- 
ent'—Huhr 

Vivian  began  to  smile.  She  knew  this 
had  been  talked  over,  and  given  up  on  that 
account.  She  herself  could  have  been  easily 
disposed  of,  but  Mrs.  Lane  chose  to  think 
her  mother  a  lifelong  charge. 

"Act  as  if  I  was  ninety!"  the  old  lady 
burst  forth  again.  "I'll  show  'em!" 

"I  think  you're  dead  right,  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew,"  said  Dr.  Bellair.  "Sixty  isn't  any- 
thing. You  ought  to  have  twenty  years  of 
enjoyable  life  yet,  before  they  call  you  'old' 
— maybe  more." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  cocked  an  eye  at  her. 
"My  grandmother  lived  to  be  a  hundred  and 
four,"  said  she,  "and  kept  on  working  up  to 
the  last  year.  I  don't  know  about  enjoyin' 
life,  but  she  was  useful  for  pretty  near  a 
solid  century.  After  she  broke  her  hip  the 
last  time  she  sat  still  and  sewed  and  knitted. 
After  her  eyes  gave  out  she  took  to  hooking 
rugs." 

"I  hope  it  will  be  forty  years,  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew,"  said  Sue,  "and  I'm  real  glad  you're 


88  THE  CRUX 

coming.  It'll  make  it  more  like  home." 
Miss  Elder  was  a  little  slow  in  accommo- 
dating herself  to  this  new  accession.  She 
liked  Mrs.  Pettigrew  very  much — but — a 
grandmother  thus  airily  at  large  seemed  to 
unsettle  the  foundations  of  things.  She  was 
polite,  even  cordial,  but  evidently  found  it 
difficult  to  accept  the  facts. 

"Besides,"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  "you  may 
not  get  all  those  boarders  at  once  and  I'll 
be  one  to  count  on.  I  stopped  at  the  bank 
this  morning  and  had  'em  arrange  for  my 
account  out  in  Carston.  They  were  some 
surprised,  but  there  was  no  time  to  ask 
questions!"  She  relapsed  into  silence  and 
gazed  with  keen  interest  at  the  whirling 
landscape. 

Throughout  the  journey  she  proved  the 
best  of  travelers;  was  never  car-sick,  slept 
well  in  the  joggling  berth,  enjoyed  the  food, 
and  continually  astonished  them  by  produc- 
ing from  her  handbag  the  most  diverse  and 
unlooked  for  conveniences.  An  old-fash- 
ioned traveller  had  forgotten  her  watchkey 
•- — Grandma  produced  an  automatic  one  war- 
ranted to  fit  anything.  "Takes  up  mighty 


TRANSPLANTED  89 

little  room — and  I  thought  maybe  it  would 
come  in  handy,"  she  said. 

She  had  a  small  bottle  of  liquid  court- 
plaster,  and  plenty  of  the  solid  kind.  She 
had  a  delectable  lotion  for  the  hands,  a  real 
treasure  on  the  dusty  journey;  also  a  tiny 
corkscrew,  a  strong  pair  of  "pinchers,"  sew- 
ing materials,  playing  cards,  string,  safety- 
pins,  elastic  bands,  lime  drops,  stamped  en- 
velopes, smelling  salts,  troches,  needles  and 
thread. 

"Did  you  bring  a  trunk,  Grandma?" 
asked  Vivian. 

"Two,"  said  Grandma,  "excess  baggage. 
All  paid  for  and  checked." 

"How  did  you  ever  learn  to  ar- 
range things  so  well?"  Sue  asked  admir- 
ingly. 

"Read  about  it,"  the  old  lady  answered. 
"There's  no  end  of  directions  nowadays. 
I've  been  studying  up." 

She  was  so  gleeful  and  triumphant,  so 
variously  useful,  so  steadily  gay  and  stim- 
ulating, that  they  all  grew  to  value  her  pres- 
ence long  before  they  reached  Carston;  but 
they  had  no  conception  of  the  ultimate  ef- 


90  THE  CRUX 

feet  of  a  resident  grandmother  in  that  new 
and  bustling  town. 

To  Vivian  the  journey  was  a  daily  and 
nightly  revelation.  She  had  read  much  but 
traveled  very  little,  never  at  night.  The 
spreading  beauty  of  the  land  was  to  her  a 
new  stimulus;  she  watched  by  the  hour  the 
endless  panorama  fly  past  her  window,  its 
countless  shades  of  green,  the  brown  and 
red  soil,  the  fleeting  dashes  of  color  where 
wild  flowers  gathered  thickly.  She  was  re- 
peatedly impressed  by  seeing  suddenly  be- 
side her  the  name  of  some  town  which  had 
only  existed  in  her  mind  as  "capital  city" 
associated  with  "principal  exports"  and 
"bounded  on  the  north." 

At  night,  sleeping  little,  she  would  raise 
her  curtain  and  look  out,  sideways,  at  the 
stars.  Big  shadowy  trees  ran  by,  steep  cut- 
tings rose  like  a  wall  of  darkness,  and  the 
hilly  curves  of  open  country  rose  and  fell 
against  the  sky  line  like  a  shaken  carpet. 

She  faced  the  long,  bright  vistas  of  the 
car  and  studied  people's  faces — such  dif- 
ferent people  from  any  she  had  seen  before. 
A  heavy  young  man  with  small,  light  eyes, 


TRANSPLANTED  91 

sat  near  by,  and  cast  frequent  glances  at 
both  the  girls,  going  by  their  seat  at  inter- 
vals. Vivian  considered  this  distinctly  rude, 
and  Sue  did  not  like  his  looks,  so  he  got 
nothing  for  his  pains,  yet  even  this  added 
color  to  the  day. 

The  strange,  new  sense  of  freedom  grew 
in  her  heart,  a  feeling  of  lightness  and  hope 
and  unfolding  purpose. 

There  was  continued  discussion  as  to  what 
the  girls  should  do. 

"We  can  be  waitresses  for  Auntie  till  we 
get  something  else,"  Sue  practically  insisted. 
"The  doctor  says  it  will  be  hard  to  get  good 
service  and  I'm  sure  the  boarders  would 
like  us." 

"You  can  both  find  work  if  you  want  it. 
What  do  you  want  to  do,  Vivian?"  asked 
Dr.  Bellair,  not  for  the  first  time. 

Vivian  was  still  uncertain. 

"I  love  children  best,"  she  said.  "I  could 
teach — but  I  haven't  a  certificate.  I'd  love 
a  kindergarten;  I've  studied  that — at 
home." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  could  get  up  a 
kindergarten  right  off,"  the  doctor  assured 


92  THE  CRUX 

her.  "Meantime,  as  this  kitten  says,  you 
could  help  Miss  Elder  out  and  turn  an  hon- 
est penny  while  you're  waiting." 

"Wouldn't  it — interfere  with  my  teach- 
ing later?"  the  girl  inquired. 

"Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit.  We're  not  so  fool- 
ish out  here.  We'll  fix  you  up  all  right  in 
no  time." 

It  was  morning  when  they  arrived  at  last 
and  came  out  of  the  cindery,  noisy  crowded 
cars  into  the  wide,  clean,  brilliant  stillness 
of  the  high  plateau.  They  drew  deep 
breaths;  the  doctor  squared  her  shoulders 
with  a  glad,  homecoming  smile.  Vivian 
lifted  her  head  and  faced  the  new  surround- 
ings as  an  unknown  world.  Grandma  gazed 
all  ways,  still  cheerful,  and  their  baggage 
accrued  about  them  as  a  rampart. 

A  big  bearded  man,  carelessly  dressed, 
whirled  up  in  a  dusty  runabout,  and  stepped 
out  smiling.  He  seized  Dr.  Bellair  by  both 
hands,  and  shook  them  warmly. 

"Thought  I'd  catch  you,  Johnny,"  he  said. 
"Glad  to  see  you  back.  If  you've  got  the 
landlady,  I've  got  the  cook!" 

"Here  we  are,"  said  she.     "Miss  Orella 


TRANSPLANTED  93 

Elder — Dr.  Hale;  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  Miss 
Susie  Elder,  Miss  Lane — Dr.  Richard 
Hale." 

He  bowed  deeply  to  Mrs.  Pettigrew, 
shook  hands  with  Miss  Orella,  and  ad- 
dressed himself  to  her,  giving  only  a  cold 
nod  to  the  two  girls,  and  quite  turning  away 
from  them. 

Susie,  in  quiet  aside  to  Vivian,  made  un- 
favorable comment. 

"This  is  your  Western  chivalry,  is  it?" 
she  said.  "Even  Bainville  does  better  than 
that." 

"I  don't  know  why  we  should  mind," 
Vivian  answered.  "It's  Dr.  Bellair's  friend; 
he  don't  care  anything  about  us." 

But  she  was  rather  of  Sue's  opinion. 

The  big  man  took  Dr.  Bellair  in  his  car, 
and  they  followed  in  a  station  carriage, 
eagerly  observing  their  new  surroundings, 
and  surprised,  as  most  Easterners  are,  by 
the  broad  beauty  of  the  streets  and  the 
modern  conveniences  everywhere — electric 
cars,  electric  lights,  telephones,  soda  foun- 
tains, where  they  had  rather  expected  to  find 
tents  and  wigwams. 


94  THE  CRUX 

The  house,  when  they  were  all  safely 
within  it,  turned  out  to  be  "just  like  a  real 
house,"  as  Sue  said;  and  proved  even  more 
attractive  than  the  doctor  had  described  it. 
It  was  a  big,  rambling  thing,  at  home  they 
would  have  called  it  a  hotel,  with  its  neat 
little  sign,  "The  Cottonwoods,"  and  Vivian 
finally  concluded  that  it  looked  like  a  sea- 
side boarding  house,  built  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

A  broad  piazza  ran  all  across  the  front,  the 
door  opening  into  a  big  square  hall,  a  sort 
of  general  sitting-room;  on  either  side  were 
four  good  rooms,  opening  on  a  transverse 
passage.  The  long  dining-room  and  kitchen 
were  in  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

Dr.  Bellair  had  two,  her  office  fronting 
on  the  side  street,  with  a  bedroom  behind  it. 
They  gave  Mrs.  Pettigrew  the  front  corner 
room  on  that  side  and  kept  the  one  opening 
from  the  hall  as  their  own  parlor.  In  the 
opposite  wing  was  Miss  Elder's  room  next 
the  hall,  and  the  girls  in  the  outer  back  cor- 
ner, while  the  two  front  ones  on  that  side 
were  kept  for  the  most  impressive  and  high- 
priced  boarders. 


TRANSPLANTED  95 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  regarded  her  apartments 
with  suspicion  as  being  too  "easy." 

"I  don't  mind  stairs,"  she  said.  "Dr.  Bel- 
lair  has  to  be  next  her  office — but  why  do  I 
have  to  be  next  Dr.  Bellair?" 

It  was  represented  to  her  that  she  would 
be  nearer  to  everything  that  went  on  and 
she  agreed  without  more  words. 

Dr.  Hale  exhibited  the  house  as  if  he 
owned  it. 

"The  agent's  out  of  town,"  he  said,  "and 
we  don't  need  him  anyway.  He  said  he'd 
do  anything  you  wanted,  in  reason." 

Dr.  Bellair  watched  with  keen  interest 
the  effect  of  her  somewhat  daring  descrip- 
tion, as  Miss  Orella  stepped  from  room  to 
room  examining  everything  with  a  careful 
eye,  with  an  expression  of  growing  general- 
ship. Sue  fluttered  about  delightedly,  dis- 
covering advantages  everywhere  and  making 
occasional  disrespectful  remarks  to  Vivian 
about  Dr.  Hale's  clothes. 

"Looks  as  if  he  never  saw  a  clothes 
brush!"  she  said.  "A  finger  out  on  his  glove, 
a  button  off  his  coat.  No  need  to  tell  us 
there's  no  woman  in  his  house!" 


96  THE  CRUX 

"You  can  decide  about  your  cook  when 
you've  tried  her,"  he  said  to  Miss  Elder.  "I 
engaged  her  for  a  week — on  trial.  She's  in 
the  kitchen  now,  and  will  have  your  dinner 
ready  presently.  I  think  you'll  like  her, 
if " 

"Good  boy!"  said  Dr.  Bellair.  "Some- 
times you  show  as  much  sense  as  a  woman 
— almost." 

"What's  the  'if'"  asked  Miss  Orella, 
looking  worried. 

"Question  of  character,"  he  answered. 
"She's  about  forty-five,  with  a  boy  of  six- 
teen or  so.  He's  not  over  bright,  but  a  will- 
ing worker.  She's  a  good  woman — from 
one  standpoint.  She  won't  leave  that  boy 
nor  give  him  up  to  strangers;  but  she  has 
a  past!" 

"What  is  her  present?"  Dr.  Bellair  asked, 
"that's  the  main  thing." 

Dr.  Hale  clapped  her  approvingly  on  the 
shoulder,  but  looked  doubtingly  toward 
Miss  Orella. 

"And  what's  her  future  if  somebody  don't 
help  her?"  Vivian  urged. 

"Can  she  cook?"  asked  Grandma, 


TRANSPLANTED  97 

"Is  she  a  safe  person  to  have  in  the 
house?"  inquired  Dr.  Bellair  meaningly. 

"She  can  cook,"  he  replied.  "She's  French, 
or  of  French  parentage.  She  used  to  keep 
a  little — place  of  entertainment.  The  food 
was  excellent.  She's  been  a  patient  of  mine 
— off  and  on — for  five  years — and  I  should 
call  her  perfectly  safe." 

Miss  Orella  still  looked  worried.  "I'd 
like  to  help  her  and  the  boy,  but  would  it — 
look  well?  I  don't  want  to  be  mean  about 
it,  but  this  is  a  very  serious  venture  with  us, 
Dr.  Hale,  and  I  have  these  girls  with  irte." 

"With  you  and  Dr.  Bellair  and  Mrs.  Pet- 
tigrew  the  young  ladies  will  be  quite  safe, 
Miss  Elder.  As  to  the  woman's  present 
character,  she  has  suffered  two  changes  of 
heart,  she's  become  a  religious  devotee — 
and  a  man-hater!  And  from  a  business 
point  of  view,  I  assure  you  that  if  Jeanne 
Jeaune  is  in  your  kitchen  you'll  never  have 
a  room  empty." 

"Johnny  Jones!  queer  name  for  a  wo- 
man!" said  Grandma.  They  repeated  it  to 
her  carefully,  but  she  only  changed  to  "Jen- 
nie June,"  and  adhered  to  one  or  the  other, 


98  THE  CRUX 

thereafter.  "What's  the  boy's  name?"  she 
asked  further. 

"Theophile,"  Dr.  Hale  replied. 

"Huh!"  said  she. 

"Why  don't  she  keep  an  eating-house 
still?"  asked  Dr.  Bellair  rather  suspiciously. 

"That's  what  I  like  best  about  her,"  he 
answered.  "She  is  trying  to  break  altogether 
with  her  past.  She  wants  to  give  up  'public 
life' — and  private  life  won't  have  her." 

They  decided  to  try  the  experiment,  and 
found  it  worked  well. 

There  were  two  bedrooms  over  the  kitchen 
where  "Mrs.  Jones"  as  Grandma  generally 
called  her,  and  her  boy,  could  be  quite  com- 
fortable and  by  themselves ;  and  although  of 
a  somewhat  sour  and  unsociable  aspect,  and 
fiercely  watchful  lest  anyone  offend  her  son, 
this  questionable  character  proved  an  un- 
questionable advantage.  With  the  boy's 
help,  she  cooked  for  the  houseful,  which 
grew  to  be  a  family  of  twenty-five.  He  also 
wiped  dishes,  helped  in  the  laundry  work, 
cleaned  and  scrubbed  and  carried  coal;  and 
Miss  Elder,  seeing  his  steady  usefulness,  in- 
sisted on  paying  wages  for  him  too.  This 


TRANSPLANTED  99 

unlocked  for  praise  and  gain  won  the 
mother's  heart,  and  as  she  grew  more  at 
home  with  them,  and  he  less  timid,  she  en- 
couraged him  to  do  the  heavier  cleaning  in 
the  rest  of  the  house. 

"Huh!"  said  Grandma.  "I  wish  more 
sane  and  moral  persons  would  work  like 
that!" 

Vivian  watched  with  amazement  the  swift 
filling  of  the  house. 

There  was  no  trouble  at  all  about  board- 
ers, except  in  discriminating  among  them. 
"Make  them  pay  in  advance,  Rella,"  Dr. 
Bellair  advised,  "it  doesn't  cost  them  any 
more,  and  it  is  a  great  convenience.  'Refer- 
ences exchanged,'  of  course.  There  are  a 
good  many  here  that  I  know — you  can  al- 
ways count  on  Mr.  Dykeman  and  Fordham 
Grier,  and  John  Unwin." 

Before  a  mjonth  was  over  the  place  was 
full  to  its  limits  with  what  Sue  called  "as- 
sorted boarders,"  the  work  ran  smoothly 
and  the  business  end  of  Miss  Elder's  ven- 
ture seemed  quite  safe.  They  had  the  twenty 
Dr.  Bellair  prophesied,  and  except  for  her, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew,  Miss  Feeder,  a  teacher  of 


100  THE  CRUX 

dancing  and  music;  Mrs.  Jocelyn,  who  was 
interested  in  mining,  and  Sarah  Hart,  who 
described  herself  as  a  "journalist,"  all  were 
men. 

Fifteen  men  to  eight  women.  Miss  Elder 
sat  at  the  head  of  her  table,  looked  down  it 
and  across  the  other  one,  and  marvelled  con- 
tinuously. Never  in  her  New  England  life 
had  she  been  with  so  many  men — except  in 
church — and  they  were  more  scattered. 
This  houseful  of  heavy  feet  and  broad 
shoulders,  these  deep  voices  and  loud  laughs, 
the  atmosphere  of  interchanging  jests  and 
tobacco  smoke,  was  new  to  her.  She  hated 
the  tobacco  smoke,  but  that  could  not  be 
helped.  They  did  not  smoke  in  her  parlor, 
but  the  house  was  full  of  it  none  the  less,  in 
which  constant  presence  she  began  to  re- 
verse the  Irishman's  well  known  judgment 
of  whiskey,  allowing  that  while  all  tobacco 
was  bad,  some  tobacco  was  much  worse  than 
others. 


CONTRASTS  101 


CHAPTER  V 

CONTRASTS 

Old  England  thinks  our  country 

Is  a  wilderness  at  best — 
And  small  New  England  thinks  the  same 

Of  the  large  free-minded  West. 

Some  people  know  the  good  old  way 

Is  the  only  way  to  do, 
And  find  there  must  be  something  wrong 

In  anything  that's  new. 

TO  Vivian  the  new  life  offered  a  stimu- 
lus, a  sense  of  stir  and  promise  even 
beyond  her  expectations.  She  wrote 
dutiful  letters  to  her  mother,  trying  to  de- 
scribe the  difference  between  this  mountain 
town  and  Bainville,  but  found  the  New  Eng- 
land viewpoint  an  insurmountable  obstacle. 
To  Bainville  "Out  West"  was  a  large 
blank  space  on  the  map,  and  the  blank  space 
in   the   mind   which   matched   it   was   but 
sparsely  dotted  with  a  few  disconnected  ideas 
such  as  "cowboy,"  "blizzard,"  "prairie  fire," 


102  THE  CRUX 

"tornado,"  "border  ruffian,"  and  the  like. 

The  girl's  painstaking  description  of  the 
spreading,  vigorous  young  town,  with  its 
fine,  modern  buildings,  its  banks  and  stores 
and  theatres,  its  country  club  and  parks,  its 
pleasant  social  life,  made  small  impression 
on  the  Bainville  mind.  But  the  fact  that 
Miss  Elder's  venture  was  successful  from 
the  first  did  impress  old  acquaintances,  and 
Mrs.  Lane  read  aloud  to  selected  visitors 
her  daughter's  accounts  of  their  new  and 
agreeable  friends.  Nothing  was  said  of 
"chaps,"  "somibreros,"  or  "shooting  up  the 
town,"  however,  and  therein  a  distinct  sense 
of  loss  was  felt. 

Much  of  what  was  passing  in  Vivian's 
mind  she  could  not  make  clear  to  her  mother 
had  she  wished  to.  The  daily  presence  and 
very  friendly  advances  of  so  many  men, 
mostly  young  and  all  polite  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  Dr.  Hale,  whose  indifference  was 
almost  rude  by  contrast),  gave  a  new  life 
and  color  to  the  days. 

She  could  not  help  giving  some  thought 
to  this  varied  assortment,  and  the  carefully 
preserved  image  of  Morton,  already  nine 


CONTRASTS  108 

years  dim,  waxed  dimmer.  But  she  had  a 
vague  consciousness  of  being  untrue  to  her 
ideals,  or  to  Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  ideals,  now 
somewhat  discredited,  and  did  not  readily 
give  herself  up  to  the  cheerful  attractive- 
ness of  the  position. 

Susie  found  no  such  difficulty.  Her  ideals 
were  simple,  and  while  quite  within  the 
bounds  of  decorum,  left  her  plenty  of  room 
for  amusement.  So  popular  did  she  become, 
so  constantly  in  demand  for  rides  and  walks 
and  oft-recurring  dances,  that  Vivian  felt 
called  upon  to  give  elder  sisterly  advice. 

But  Miss  Susan  scouted  her  admonitions. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  have  a  good  time?"  she 
said.  "Think  how  we  grew  up!  Half  a 
dozen  boys  to  twenty  girls,  and  when  there 
was  anything  to  go  to — the  lordly  way 
they'd  pick  and  choose!  And  after  all  our 
efforts  and  machinations  most  of  us  had  to 
dance  with  each  other.  And  the  quarrels 
we  had!  Here  they  stand  around  three  deep 
asking  for  dances — and  they  have  to  dance 
with  each  other,  and  they  do  the  quarreling. 
I've  heard  'em."  And  Sue  giggled  delight- 
edly. 


104  THE  CRUX 

"There's  no  reason  we  shouldn't  enjoy 
ourselves,  Susie,  of  course,  but  aren't  you 
— rather  hard  on  them?" 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  Sue  protested.  "Dr.  Bel- 
lair  said  I  should  get  married  out  here !  She 
says  the  same  old  thing — that  it's  'a  woman's 
duty,'  and  I  propose  to  do  it.  That  is — 
they'll  propose,  and  I  won't  do  it !  Not  till 
I  make  up  my  mind.  Now  see  how  you  like 
this!" 

She  had  taken  a  fine  large  block  of  "legal 
cap"  and  set  down  their  fifteen  men  thereon, 
with  casual  comment. 

1.  Mr.  Unwin — Too  old,  big,  quiet. 

2.  Mr.  Elmer  Skee — Big,  too  old,  funny. 

3.  Jimmy  Saunders — Middle-sized,  amus- 
ing, nice. 

4.  P.  R.  Gibbs— Too  little,  too  thin,  too 
cocky. 

5.  George   Waterson — Middling,   pretty 
nice. 

6.  J.  J.  Cuthbert— Big,  horrid. 

7.  Fordham  Greer — Big,  pleasant. 

8.  W.  S.  Horton — Nothing  much. 

9.  A.  L.  Dykeman — Interesting,  too  old. 

10.  Professor  Toomey — Little,  horrid. 


CONTRASTS  105 

11.  Arthur  Fitzwilliam — Ridiculous,  too 
young. 

12.  Howard  Winchester — Too  nice,  dis- 
trust him. 

13.  Lawson  W.  Briggs — Nothing  much. 

14.  Edward  S.  Jenks — Fair  to  middling. 

15.  Mr.  A.  Smith — Minus. 

She  held  it  up  in  triumph.  "I  got  'em  all 
out  of  the  book — quite  correct.  Now, 
which'll  you  have." 

"Susie  Elder!  You  little  goose !  Do  you 
imagine  that  all  these  fifteen  men  are  going 
to  propose  to  you?" 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  so!"  said  the  cheerful 
damsel.  "We've  only  been  settled  a  fort- 
night and  one  of  'em  has  already!" 

Vivian  was  impressed  at  once.  "Which? 
^— You  don't  mean  it!" 

Sue  pointed  to  the  one  marked  "minus." 

"It  was  only  'A.  Smith.'  I  never  should 
be  willing  to  belong  to  'A.  Smith,'  it's  too 
indefinite — unless  it  was  a  last  resort. 
Several  more  are — well,  extremely  friendly! 
Now  don't  look  so  severe.  You  needn't 
worry  about  me.  I'm  not  quite  so  foolish  as 
I  talk,  you  know." 


106  THE  CRUX 

She  was  not.  Her  words  were  light  and 
saucy,  but  she  was  as  demure  and  decorous 
a  little  New  Englander  as  need  be  desired; 
and  she  could  not  help  it  if  the  hearts  of 
the  unattached  young  men  of  whom  the 
town  was  full,  warmed  towards  her. 

Dr.  Bellair  astonished  them  at  lunch  one 
day  in  their  first  week. 

"Dick  Hale  wants  us  all  to  come  over  to 
tea,  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  as  if  it  was 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"Tea?  Where?"  asked  Mrs.  Pettigrew 
sharply. 

"At  his  house.  He  has  'a  home  of  his 
own,'  you  know.  And  he  particularly  wants 
you,  Mrs.  Pettigrew — and  Miss  Elder — the 
girls,  of  course." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  care  to  go,"  Vivian  re- 
marked with  serene  indifference,  but  Susie 
did. 

"Oh,  come  on,  Vivian!  It'll  be  so  funny! 
A  man's  home! — and  we  may  never  get 
another  chance.  He's  such  a  bear!" 

Dr.  Hale's  big  house  was  only  across  the 
road  from  theirs,  standing  in  a  large  lot  with 
bushes  and  trees  about  it. 


CONTRASTS  107 

"He's  been  here  nine  years,"  Dr.  Bellair 
told  them.  "That's  an  old  inhabitant  for 
us.  He  boarded  in  that  house  for  a  while; 
then  it  was  for  sale  and  he  bought  it.  He 
built  that  little  office  of  his  at  the  corner — 
says  he  doesn't  like  to  live  where  he  works, 
or  work  where  he  lives.  He  took  his  meals 
over  here  for  a  while — and  then  set  up  for 
himself." 

"I  should  think  he'd  be  lonely,"  Miss  El- 
der suggested. 

"Oh,  he  has  his  boys,  you  know — always 
three  or  four  young  fellows  about  him.  It's 
a  mighty  good  thing  for  them,  too." 

Dr.  Hale's  home  proved  a  genuine  sur- 
prise. They  had  regarded  it  as  a  big,  neg- 
lected-looking  place,  and  found  on  enter- 
ing the  gate  that  the  inside  view  of  that 
rampant  shrubbery  was  extremely  pleasant, 
Though  not  close  cut  and  swept  of  leaves 
and  twigs,  it  still  was  beautiful;  and  the 
tennis  court  and  tether-ball  ring  showed  the 
ground  well  used. 

Grandma  looked  about  her  with  a  keen 
interrogative  eye,  and  was  much  impressed, 
as,  indeed,  were  they  all.  She  voiced  their 


108  THE  CRUX 

feelings  justly  when,  the  true  inwardness 
of  this  pleasant  home  bursting  fully  upon 
them,  she  exclaimed: 

"Well,  of  all  things!  A  man  keeping 
house!" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Dr.  Hale  with  his  dry 
smile.  "Is  there  any  deficiency,  mental  or 
physical,  about  a  man,  to  prevent  his  at- 
tempting this  abstruse  art?" 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  "I  don't  know 
about  deficiency,  but  there  seems  to  be 
somethin'  about  'em  that  keeps  'em  out  of 
the  business.  I  guess  it's  because  women  are 
so  cheap." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 
And  here  women  are  scarce  and  high.  Hence 
my  poor  efforts." 

His  poor  efforts  had  bought  or  built  a 
roomy  pleasant  house,  and  furnished  it  with 
a  solid  comfort  and  calm  attractiveness  that 
was  most  satisfying.  Two  Chinamen  did 
the  work;  cooking,  cleaning,  washing,  wait- 
ing on  table,  with  silent  efficiency.  "They 
are  as  steady  as  eight-day  clocks,"  said  Dr. 
Hale.  "I  pay  them  good  wages  and  they 
are  worth  it." 


CONTRASTS  109 

"Sun  here  had  to  go  home  once — to  be 
married,  also,  to  see  his  honored  parents,  I 
believe,  and  to  leave  a  grand-' Sun'  to  attend 
to  the  ancestors;  but  he  brought  in  another 
Chink  first  and  trained  him  so  well  that  I 
hardly  noticed  the  difference.  Came  back 
in  a  year  or  so,  and  resumed  his  place  with- 
out a  jar." 

Miss  Elder  watched  with  fascinated  eyes 
these  soft-footed  servants  with  clean,  white 
garments  and  shiny  coils  of  long,  braided 
hair. 

"I  may  have  to  come  to  it,"  she  admitted, 
"but — dear  me,  it  doesn't  seem  natural  to 
have  a  man  doing  housework!" 

Dr.  Hale  smiled  again.  "You  don't  want 
men  to  escape  from  dependence,  I  see.  Per- 
haps, if  more  men  knew  how  comfortably 
they  could  live  without  women,  the  world 
would  be  happier."  There  was  a  faint  wire- 
edge  to  his  tone,  in  spite  of  the  courteous 
expression,  but  Miss  Elder  did  not  notice 
it  and  if  Mrs.  Pettigrew  did,  she  made  no 
comment. 

They  noted  the  varied  excellences  of  his 
housekeeping  with  high  approval. 


110  THE  CRUX 

"You  certainly  know  how,  Dr.  Hale," 
said  Miss  Orella;  "I  particularly  admire 
these  beds — with  the  sheets  buttoned  down, 
German  fashion,  isn't  it?  What  made  you 
do  that?" 

"I've  slept  so  much  in  hotels,"  he  an- 
swered; "and  found  the  sheets  always  in- 
adequate to  cover  the  blankets — and  the 
marks  of  other  men's  whiskers !  I  don't  like 
blankets  in  my  neck.  Besides  it  saves  wash- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  nodded  vehemently. 
"You  have  sense,"  she  said. 

The  labor-saving  devices  were  a  a  real 
surprise  to  them.  A  "chute"  for  soiled  cloth- 
ing shot  from  the  bathroom  on  each  floor  to 
the  laundry  in  the  basement;  a  dumbwaiter 
of  construction  large  and  strong  enough  to 
carry  trunks,  went  from  cellar  to  roof;  the 
fireplaces  dropped  their  ashes  down  myster- 
ious inner  holes;  and  for  the  big  one  in  the 
living-room  a  special  "lift"  raised  a  box  of 
wood  up  to  the  floor  level,  hidden  by  one  of 
the  "settles." 

"Saves  work — saves  dirt — saves  ex- 
pense," said  Dr.  Hale. 


CONTRASTS  111 

Miss  Hale  and  her  niece  secretly  thought 
the  rooms  rather  bare,  but  Dr.  Bellair  was 
highly  in  favor  of  that  very  feature. 

"You  see  Dick  don't  believe  in  jimcracks 
and  dirt-catchers,  and  he  likes  sunlight. 
Books  all  under  glass — no  curtains  to  wash 
and  darn  and  fuss  with — none  of  those  fancy 
pincushions  and  embroidered  thingummies 
• — I  quite  envy  him." 

"Why  don't  you  have  one  yourself, 
Johnny?"  he  asked  her. 

"Because  I  don't  like  housekeeping,"  she 
said,  "and  you  do.  Masculine  instinct,  I 
suppose !" 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew  with  her 
sudden  one-syllable  chuckle. 

The  girls  followed  from  room  to  room, 
scarce  noticing  these  comments,  or  the  eager 
politeness  of  the  four  pleasant-faced  young 
fellows  who  formed  the  doctor's  present  fam- 
ily. She  could  not  but  note  the  intelligent 
efficiency  of  the  place,  but  felt  more  deeply 
the  underlying  spirit,  the  big-brotherly  kind- 
ness which  prompted  his  hospitable  care  of 
these  nice  boys.  It  was  delightful  to  hear 
them  praise  him. 


11B  THE  CRUX 

"O,  he's  simply  great,"  whispered  Archie 
Burns,  a  ruddy-cheeked  young  Scotchman. 
"He  pretends  there's  nothing  to  it — that  he 
wants  company — that  we  pay  for  all  we  get 
— and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know ;  but  this 
is  no  boarding  house,  I  can  tell  you!"  And 
then  he  flushed  till  his  very  hair  grew  redder 
— remembering  that  the  guests  came  from 
one. 

"Of  course  not!"  Vivian  cordially  agreed 
with  him.  "You  must  have  lovely  times  here. 
I  don't  wonder  you  appreciate  it!"  and  she 
smiled  so  sweetly  that  he  felt  at  ease  again. 

Beneath  all  this  cheery  good  will  and  the 
gay  chatter  of  the  group  her  quick  sense 
caught  an  impression  of  something  hidden 
and  repressed.  She  felt  the  large  and  quiet 
beauty  of  the  rooms;  the  smooth  comfort, 
the  rational,  pleasant  life;  but  still  more  she 
felt  a  deep  keynote  of  loneliness. 

The  pictures  told  her  most.  She  noted 
one  after  another  with  inward  comment. 

"There's  'Persepolis,'  "  she  said  to  herself 
— "loneliness  incarnate;  and  that  other  lion- 
and-ruin  thing, — loneliness  and  decay.  Ge- 
rome's  'Lion  in  the  Desert,'  too,  the  same 


CONTRASTS  113 

thing.  Then  Daniel — more  lions,  more  lone- 
liness, but  power.  'Circe  and  the  Compan- 
ions of  Ulysses' — cruel,  but  loneliness  and 
power  again — of  a  sort.  There's  that  'Island 
of  Death'  too— a  beautiful  thing— but  O 
dear! — And  young  Burne- Jones'  'Vam- 
pire' was  in  one  of  the  bedrooms — that  one 
he  shut  the  door  of!" 

While  they  ate  and  drank  in  the  long, 
low-ceiled  wide-windowed  room  below,  she 
sought  the  bookcases  and  looked  them  over 
curiously.  Yes — there  was  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  Epictetus,  Plato,  Emerson  and  Car- 
lisle— the  great  German  philosophers,  the 
French,  the  English — all  showing  signs  of 
use. 

Dr.  Hale  observed  her  inspection.  It 
seemed  to  vaguely  annoy  him,  as  if  someone 
were  asking  too  presuming  questions. 

"Interested  in  philosophy,  Miss  Lane?" 
he  asked,  drily,  coming  toward  her. 

"Yes — so  far  as  I  understand  it,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"And  how  far  does  that  go?" 

She  felt  the  inference,  and  raised  her  soft 
eyes  to  his  rather  reproachfully. 


114  THE  CRUX 

"Not  far,  I  am  afraid.  But  I  do  know 
that  these  books  teach  one  how  to  bear 
trouble." 

He  met  her  gaze  steadily,  but  something 
seemed  to  shut,  deep  in  his  eyes.  They 
looked  as  unassailable  as  a  steel  safe.  He 
straightened  his  big  shoulders  with  a  defiant 
shrug,  and  returned  to  sit  by  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew,  to  whom  he  made  himself  most  agree- 
able. 

The  four  young  n>en  did  the  honors  of 
the  tea  table,  with  devotion  to  all;  and  some 
especially  intended  for  the  younger  ladies. 
Miss  Elder  cried  out  in  delight  at  the 
tea. 

"Where  did  you  get  it,  Dr.  Hale?  Can 
it  be  had  here?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  That  is  a  particular 
brand.  Sun  brought  me  a  chest  of  it  when 
he  came  from  his  visit." 

When  they  went  home  each  lady  was 
given  a  present,  Chinese  fashion — lychee 
nuts  for  Sue,  lily-bulbs  for  Vivian,  a  large 
fan  for  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  and  a  package  of 
the  wonderful  tea  for  Miss  Orella. 

"That's  a  splendid  tiling  for  him  to  do," 


CONTRASTS  115 

she  said,  as  they  walked  back.  "Such  a  safe 
place  for  those  boys!" 

"It's  lovely  of  him,"  Sue  agreed.  "I  don't 
care  if  he  is  a  woman-hater." 

Vivian  said  nothing,  but  admitted,  on 
being  questioned,  that  "he  was  very  inter- 
esting." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  was  delighted  with  their 
visit.  "I  like  this  country,"  she  declared. 
"Things  are  different.  A  man  couldn't  do 
that  in  Bainville — he'd  be  talked  out  of 
town." 

That  night  she  sought  Dr.  Bellair  and 
questioned  her. 

"Tell  me  about  that  man,"  she  demanded. 
"How  old  is  he?" 

"Not  as  old  as  he  looks  by  ten  years," 
said  the  doctor.  "No,  I  can't  tell  you  who 
his  hair's  gray." 

"What  woman  upset  him?"  asked  the  old 
lady. 

Dr.  Bellair  regarded  her  thoughtfully. 
"He  has  made  me  no  confidences,  Mrs.  Pet- 
tigrew, but  I  think  you  are  right.  It  must 
have  been  a  severe  shock — for  he  is  very 
bitter  against  women.  It  is  a  shame,  too,  for 


116  THE  CRUX 

he  is  one  of  the  best  of  men.  He  prefers 
men  patients — and  gets  them.  The  women 
he  will  treat  if  he  must,  but  he  is  kind- 
est to  the  'fallen'  ones,  and  inclined  to 
sneer  at  the  rest.  And  yet  he's  the 
straightest  man  I  ever  knew.  I'm  thank- 
ful to  have  him  come  here  so  much.  He 
needs  it." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  marched  off,  nodding 
sagely.  She  felt  a  large  and  growing  inter- 
est in  her  new  surroundings,  more  especially 
in  the  numerous  boys,  but  was  somewhat 
amazed  at  her  popularity  among  them. 
These  young  men  were  mainly  exiles  from 
home;  the  older  ones,  though  more  settled 
perhaps,  had  been  even  longer  away  from 
their  early  surroundings;  and  a  real  live 
Grandma,  as  Jimmy  Saunders  said,  was  an 
"attraction." 

"If  you  were  mine,"  he  told  her  laugh- 
ingly, "I'd  get  a  pianist  and  some  sort  of 
little  side  show,  and  exhibit  you  all  up  and 
down  the  mountains! — for  good  money. 
Why  some  of  the  boys  never  had  a 
Grandma,  and  those  that  did  haven't  seen 
one  since  they  were  kids!" 


CONTRASTS  117 

"Very  complimentary,  I'm  sure — but  im- 
practicable," said  the  old  lady. 

The  young  men  came  to  her  with  confi- 
dences, they  asked  her  advice,  they  kept  her 
amused  with  tales  of  their  adventures; 
some  true,  some  greatly  diversified;  and  she 
listened  with  a  shrewd  little  smile  and  a  wag 
of  the  head — so  they  never  were  quite  sure 
whether  they  were  "fooling"  Grandma  or 
not. 

To  her,  as  a  general  confidant,  came  Miss 

Feeder  with  a  tale  of  woe.     The  little  hall 

that  she  rented  for  her  dancing  classes  had 

burned  down  on  a  windy  Sunday,  and  there 

was  no  other  suitable  and  within  her  means. 

"There's  Sloan's;  but  it's  over  a  barroom 

—it's  really  not  possible.     And  Baker's  is 

too  expensive.  The  church  rooms  they  won't 

let  for  dancing — I  don't  know  what  I  am  to 

do,  Mrs.  Pettigrewl" 

"Why  don't  you  ask  Orella  Elder  to  rent 
you  her  dining-room — it's  big  enough.  They 

could  move  the  tables " 

Miss  Feeder's  eyes  opened  in  hopeful  sur- 
prise. "Oh,  if  she  would!  Do  you  think 
she  would?  It  would  be  ideal." 


118  THE  CRUX 

Miss  Elder  being  called  upon,  was  quite 
fluttered  by  the  proposition,  and  consulted 
Dr.  Bellair. 

"Why  not?"  said  that  lady.  "Dancing  is 
first  rate  exercise — good  for  us  all.  Might 
as  well  have  the  girls  dance  here  under  your 
eye  as  going  out  all  the  time — and  it's  some 
addition  to  the  income.  They'll  pay  extra 
for  refreshments,  too.  I'd  do  it." 

With  considerable  trepidation  Miss  Orella 
consented,  and  their  first  "class  night"  was 
awaited  by  her  in  a  state  of  suppressed  ex- 
citement. 

To  have  music  and  dancing — "with  re- 
freshments"— twice  a  week — in  her  own 
house — this  seemed  to  her  like  a  career  of 
furious  dissipation. 

Vivian,  though  with  a  subtle  sense  of 
withdrawal  from  a  too  general  intimacy,  was 
inwardly  rather  pleased;  and  Susie  bubbled 
over  with  delight. 

"Oh  what  fun!"  she  cried.  "I  never  had 
enough  dancing!  I  don't  believe  anybody 
has!" 

"We  don't  belong  to  the  Class,  you 
know,"  Vivian  reminded  her. 


CONTRASTS  119 

"Oh  yes!  Miss  Feeder  says  we  must  all 
come — that  she  would  feel  very  badly  if  we 
didn't;  and  the  boarders  have  all  joined — 
to  a  man!" 

Everyone  seemed  pleased  except  Mrs. 
Jeaune.  Dancing  she  considered  immoral; 
music,  almost  as  much  so — and  Miss  Elder 
trembled  lest  she  lose  her.  But  the  offer  of 
extra  payments  for  herself  and  son  on  these 
two  nights  each  week  proved  sufficient  to 
quell  her  scruples. 

Theophile  doubled  up  the  tables,  set  chairs 
around  the  walls,  waxed  the  floor,  and  was 
then  sent  to  bed  and  locked  in  by  his  anxious 
mother. 

She  labored,  during  the  earlier  hours  of 
the  evening,  in  the  preparation  of  sand- 
wiches and  coffee,  cake  and  lemonade — 
which  viands  were  later  shoved  through  the 
slide  by  the  austere  cook,  and  distributed  as 
from  a  counter  by  Miss  Feeder's  assistant. 
Mrs.  Jeauqe  would  come  no  nearer,  but 
peered  darkly  upon  theni  through  the  peep- 
hole in  the  swinging  door. 

It  was  a  very  large  room,  due  to  the  time 
when  many  "mealers"  had  been  accommo- 


120  THE  CRUX 

dated.  There  were  windows  on  each  side, 
windows  possessing  the  unusual  merit  of 
opening  from  the  top;  wide  double  doors 
made  the  big  front  hall  a  sort  of  anteroom, 
and  the  stairs  and  piazza  furnished  oppor- 
tunities for  occasional  couples  who  felt  the 
wish  for  retirement.  In  the  right-angled 
passages,  long  hat-racks  on  either  side  were 
hung  with  "Derbies,"  "Kossuths"  and  "Stet- 
sons," and  the  ladies  took  off  their  wraps, 
and  added  finishing  touches  to  their  toilettes 
in  Miss  Elder's  room. 

The  house  was  full  of  stir  and  bustle,  of 
pretty  dresses,  of  giggles  and  whispers,  and 
the  subdued  exchange  of  comments  among 
the  gentlemen.  The  men  predominated,  so 
that  there  was  no  lack  of  partners  for  any 
of  the  ladies. 

Miss  Orella  accepted  her  new  position 
with  a  half -terrified  enjoyment.  Not  in 
many  years  had  she  found  herself  so  in  de- 
mand. Her  always  neat  and  appropriate 
costume  had  blossomed  suddenly  for  the 
occasion;  her  hair,  arranged  by  the  affec- 
tionate and  admiring  Susie,  seemed  softer 
and  more  voluminous.  Her  eyes  grew  bril- 


CONTRASTS  121 

liant,  and  the  delicate  color  in  her  face 
warmed  and  deepened. 

Miss  Feeder  had  installed  a  pianola  to 
cover  emergencies,  but  on  this  opening  even- 
ing she  had  both  piano  and  violin — good, 
lively,  sole-stirring  music.  Everyone  was 
on  the  floor,  save  a  few  gentlemen  who  evi- 
dently wished  they  were. 

Sue  danced  with  the  gaiety  and  lightness 
of  a  kitten  among  wind-blown  leaves,  Vivian 
with  gliding  grace,  smooth  and  harmonious, 
Miss  Orella  with  skill  and  evident  enjoy- 
ment, though  still  conscientious  in  every  ac- 
curate step. 

Presently  Mrs.  Pettigrew  appeared,  se- 
dately glorious  in  black  silk,  jet-beaded,  and 
with  much  fine  old  lace.  She  bore  in  front 
of  her  a  small  wicker  rocking  chair,  and 
headed  for  a  corner  near  the  door.  Her 
burden  was  promptly  taken  from  her  by  one 
of  the  latest  comers,  a  tall  person  with  a 
most  devoted  manner. 

"Allow  me,  ma'am,"  he  said,  and  placed 
the  little  chair  at  the  point  she  indicated. 
"No  lady  ought  to  rustle  for  rockin'  chairs 
with  so  many  gentlemen  present." 


122  THE  CRUX 

He  was  a  man  of  somewhat  advanced  age, 
but  his  hair  was  still  more  black  than  white 
and  had  a  curly,  wiggish  effect  save  as  its 
indigenous  character  was  proven  by  three 
small  bare  patches  of  a  conspicuous  nature. 

He  bowed  so  low  before  her  that  she  could 
not  help  observing  these  distinctions,  and 
then  answered  her  startled  look  before  she 
had  time  to  question  him. 

"Yes'm,"  he  explained,  passing  his  hand 
over  head;  "scalped  three  several  times  and 
left  for  dead.  But  I'm  here  yet.  Mr.  Elmer 
Skee,  at  your  service." 

"I  thought  when  an  Indian  scalped  you 
there  wasn't  enough  hair  left  to  make 
Greeley  whiskers,"  said  Grandma,  rising  to 
the  occasion. 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am,  they  ain't  so  efficacious 
as  all  that — not  in  these  parts.  I  don't  know 
what  the  ancient  Mohawks  may  have  done, 
but  the  Apaches  only  want  a  patch — smaller 
to  carry  and  just  as  good  to  show  off. 
They're  collectors,  you  know — like  a  phil- 
e-a-to-lol-o-gist!" 

"Skee,  did  you  say?"  pursued  the  old 
lady,  regarding  him  with  interest  and  con- 


CONTRASTS  123 

vinced  that  there  was  something  wrong  with 
the  name  of  that  species  of  collector. 

"Yes'in.  Skee— Elmer  Skee.  No'm,  not 
pronounced  'she.'  Do  I  look  like  it?" 

Mr.  Skee  was  an  interesting  relic  of  that 
stormy  past  of  the  once  Wild  West  which 
has  left  so  few  surviving.  He  had  crossed 
the  plains  as  a  child,  he  told  her,  in  the  days 
of  the  prairie  schooner,  had  then  and  there 
lost  his  parents  and  his  first  bit  of  scalp,  was 
picked  up  alive  by  a  party  of  "movers,"  and 
had  grown  up  in  a  playground  of  sixteen 
states  and  territories. 

Grandma  gazed  upon  him  fascinated.  "I 
judge  you  might  be  interesting  to  talk 
with,"  she  said,  after  he  had  given  her  this 
brief  sketch  of  his  youth. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Skee. 
"May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  this  dance?" 

"I  haven't  danced  in  thirty  years,"  said 
she,  dubitating. 

"The  more  reason  for  doing  it  now,"  he 
calmly  insisted. 

"Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  and  they 
forthwith  executed  a  species  of  march,  the 
gentleman  pacing  with  the  elaborate  grace 


124:  THE  CRUX 

of  a  circus  horse,  and  Grandma  stepping  at 
his  side  with  great  decorum. 

Later  on,  warming  to  the  occasion,  Mr. 
Skee  frisked  and  high-stepped  with  the 
youngest  and  gayest,  and  found  the  supper 
so  wholly  to  his  liking  that  he  promptly  ap- 
plied for  a  room,  and  as  soon  as  one  was 
vacant  it  was  given  to  him. 

Vivian  danced  to  her  heart's  content  and 
enjoyed  the  friendly  merriment  about  her; 
but  when  Fordham  Greer  took  her  out  on 
the  long  piazza  to  rest  and  breathe  a  little, 
she  saw  the  dark  bulk  of  the  house  across 
the  street  and  the  office  with  its  half -lit 
window,  and  could  not  avoid  thinking  of  the 
lonely  man  there. 

He  had  not  come  to  the  dance,  no  one  ex- 
pected that,  of  course;  but  all  his  boys  had 
come  and  were  having  the  best  of  times. 

"It's  his  own  fault,  of  course;  but  it's  a 
shame,"  she  thought. 

The  music  sounded  gaily  from  within, 
and  young  Greer  urged  for  another  dance. 

She  stood  there  for  a  moment,  hesitating, 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  when  a  tall  figure  came 
briskly  up  the  street  from  the  station,  turned 


CONTRASTS 

in  at  their  gate,  came  up  the  steps 

The  girl  gave  a  little  cry,  and  shrank  back 

for  an  instant,  then  eagerly  came  forward 

and  gave  her  hand  to  him. 
It  was  Morton.     . 


126  THE  CRUX 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEW   FRIENDS  AND   OLD 

'Twould  be  too  bad  to  be  true,  my  dear, 

And  wonders   never  cease; 
Twould  be  too  bad  to  be  true,  my  dear, 

If  all  one's  swans  were  geese! 

VIVIAN'S  startled  cry  of  welcome 
was  heard  by  Susie,  perched  on 
the  stairs  with  several  eager  youths 
gathered  as  close  as  might  be  about  her, 
and  several  pairs  of  hands  helped  her  swift 
descent  to  greet  her  brother. 

Miss  Orella,  dropping  Mr.  Dykeman's 
arm,  came  flying  from  the  ball-room. 

"Oh,  Morton!  Morton!  When  did  you 
come?  Why  didn't  you  let  us  know?  Oh, 
my  dear  boy!" 

She  haled  him  into  their  special  parlor, 
took  his  hat  away  from  him,  pulled  out  the 
most  comfortable  chair. 

"Have  you  had  supper?  And  to  think 
that  we  haven't  a  room  for  you !  But  there's 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  127 

to  be  one  vacant — next  week.  I'll  see  that 
there  is.  You  shall  have  my  room,  dear  boy. 
Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!" 

Susie  gave  him  a  sisterly  hug,  while  he 
kissed  her,  somewhat  gingerly,  on  the  cheek, 
and  then  she  perched  herself  on  the  arm  of 
a  chair  and  gazed  upon  him  with  affec- 
tionate interest.  Vivian  gazed  also,  busily 
engaged  in  fitting  present  facts  to  past 
memories. 

Surely  he  had  not  looked  just  like  that! 
The  Morton  of  her  girlhood's  dream  had  a 
clear  complexion,  a  bright  eye,  a  brave  and 
gallant  look — the  voice  only  had  not 
changed. 

But  here  was  Morton  in  present  fact, 
something  taller,  it  seemed,  and  a  good  deal 
heavier,  well  dressed  in  a  rather  vivid  way, 
and  making  merry  over  his  aunt's  de- 
votion. 

"Well,  if  it  doesn't  seem  like  old  times  to 
have  Aunt  'Rella  running  'round  like  a  hen 
with  her  head  cut  off,  to  wait  on  me."  The 
simile  was  not  unjust,  though  certainly 
ungracious,  but  his  aunt  was  far  too  happy 
to  resent  it, 


128  THE  CRUX 

"You  sit  right  still!"  she  said.  "I'll  go 
and  bring  you  some  supper.  You  must  be 
hungry." 

"Now  do  sit  down  and  hear  to  reason, 
Auntie!"  he  said,  reaching  out  a  detaining 
hand  and  pulling  her  into  a  seat  beside  him. 
"I'm  not  hungry  a  little  bit ;  had  a  good  feed 
on  the  diner.  Never  mind  about  the  room — 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  can  stay — and  I 
left  my  grip  at  the  Allen  House  anyway. 
How  well  you're  looking,  Auntie!  I  de- 
clare I'd  hardly  have  known  you!  Aind 
here's  little  Susie — a  regular  belle!  And 
Vivian — don't  suppose  I  dare  call  you 
Vivian  now,  Miss  Lane?" 

Vivian  gave  a  little  embarrassed  laugh. 
If  he  had  used  her  first  name  she  would 
never  have  noticed  it.  Now  that  he  asked 
her,  she  hardly  knew  what  answer  to  make, 
but  presently  said: 

"Why,  of  course,  I  always  call  you 
Morton." 

"Well,  I'll  come  when  you  call  me,"  he 
cheerfully  replied,  leaning  forward,  elbows 
on  knees,  and  looking  around  the  pretty 
room. 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  129 

"How  well  you're  fixed  here.  Guess  it 
was  a  wise  move,  Aunt  'Rella.  But  I'd 
never  have  dreamed  you'd  do  it.  Your  Dr. 
Bellair  must  have  been  a  powerful  promoter 
to  get  you  all  out  here.  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  anybody  in  Bainville  could  move — 
but  me.  Why,  there's  Grandma,  as  I  live!" 
and  he  made  a  low  bow. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew,  hearing  of  his  arrival 
from  the  various  would-be  partners  of  the 
two  girls,  had  come  to  the  door  and  stood 
there  regarding  him  with  a  non-committal 
expression.  At  this  address  she  frowned 
perceptibly. 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  young  man. 
I've  known  you  since  you  were  a  scallawag 
in  short  pants,  but  I'm  no  Grandma  of 
yours." 

"A  thousand  pardons!  Please  excuse  me, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew,"  he  said  with  exaggerated 
politeness.  "Won't  you  be  seated?"  And 
he  set  a  chair  for  her  with  a  flourish. 

"Thanks,  no,"  she  said.  "I'll  go  back," 
and  went  back  forthwith,  attended  by  Mr. 
Skee. 

"One   of   these   happy   family  reunions, 


130  THE  CRUX 

ma'am?"  he  asked  with  approving  interest. 
"If  there's  one  thing  I  do  admire,  it's  a 
happy  surprise." 

'Tis  some  of  a  surprise,"  Mrs.  Pettigrew 
admitted,  and  became  rather  glum,  in  spite 
of  Mr.  Skee's  undeniably  entertaining  con- 
versation. 

"Some  sort  of  a  fandango  going  on?" 
Morton  asked  after  a  few  rather  stiff  mo- 
ments. "Don't  let  me  interrupt!  On  with 
the  dance!  Let  joy  be  unconfined!  And  if 
she  must" — he  looked  at  Vivian,  and  went 
on  somewhat  lamely — "dance,  why  not  dance 
with  me?  May  I  have  the  pleasure,  Miss 
Lane?" 

"Oh,  no,"  cried  Miss  Orella,  "we'd  much 
rather  be  with  you!" 

"But  I'd  rather  dance  than  talk,  any 
time,"  said  he,  and  crooked  his  elbow  to 
Vivian  with  an  impressive  bow. 

Somewhat  uncertain  in  her  own  mind,  and 
unwilling  to  again  disappoint  Fordham 
Greer,  who  had  already  lost  one  dance  and 
was  visibly  waiting  for  her  in  the  hall,  the 
girl  hesitated;  but  Susie  said,  "Go  on,  give 
him  part  of  one.  I'll  tell  Mr.  Greer."  So 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  131 

Vivian  took  Morton's  proffered  arm  and 
returned  to  the  floor. 

She  had  never  danced  with  him  in  the 
old  days;  no  special  memory  was  here  to 
contrast  with  the  present;  yet  something 
seemed  vaguely  wrong.  He  danced  well, 
but  more  actively  than  she  admired,  and 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening  devoted  him- 
self to  the  various  ladies  with  an  air  of  long 
usage. 

She  was  glad  when  the  dancing  was  over 
and  he  had  finally  departed  for  his  hotel, 
glad  when  Susie  had  at  last  ceased  chat- 
tering and  dropped  reluctantly  to  sleep. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  awake  trying  to 
straighten  out  things  in  her  mind  and  ac- 
count to  herself  for  the  sense  of  vague  con- 
fusion which  oppressed  her. 

Morton  had  come  back!  That  was  the 
prominent  thing,  of  which  she  repeatedly 
assured  herself.  How  often  she  had  looked 
forward  to  that  moment,  and  felt  in  antici- 
pation a  vivid  joy.  She  had  thought  of  it  in 
a  hundred  ways,  always  with  pleasure,  but 
never  in  this  particular  way — among  so 
many  strangers. 


132  THE  CRUX 

It  must  be  that  which  confused  her,  she 
thought,  for  she  was  extremely  sensitive  to 
the  attitude  of  those  about  her.  She  felt  an 
unspoken  criticism  of  Morton  on  the  part 
of  her  new  friends  in  the  house,  and  resented 
it;  yet  in  her  own  mind  a  faint  comparison 
would  obtrude  itself  between  his  manners 
and  those  of  Jimmie  Saunders  or  Mr.  Greer, 
for  instance.  The  young  Scotchman  she 
had  seen  regarding  Morton  with  an  undis- 
guised dislike,  and  this  she  inwardly  re- 
sented, even  while  herself  disliking  his  bear- 
ing to  his  aunt — and  to  her  grandmother. 

It  was  all  contradictory  and  unsatisfying, 
and  she  fell  asleep  saying  over  to  herself, 
"He  has  come  back!  He  has  come  back!" 
and  trying  to  feel  happy. 

Aunt  Orella  was  happy  at  any  rate.  She 
would  not  rest  until  her  beloved  nephew  was 
installed  in  the  house,  practically  turning  out 
Mr.  Gibbs  in  order  to  accommodate  him. 
Morton  protested,  talked  of  business  and  of 
having  to  go  away  at  any  time;  and  Mr. 
Gibbs,  who  still  "mealed"  with  them,  se- 
cretly wished  he  would. 

But  Morton  did  not  go  away.     It  was  a 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  133 

long  time  since  he  had  been  petted  and 
waited  on,  and  he  enjoyed  it  hugely,  treat- 
ing his  aunt  with  a  serio-comic  affection  that 
was  sometimes  funny,  sometimes  disagree- 
able. 

At  least  Susie  found  it  so.  Her  first  sur- 
prise over,  she  fell  back  on  a  fund  of  sound 
common  sense,  strengthened  by  present  ex- 
perience, and  found  a  good  deal  to  criticise 
in  her  returned  brother.  She  was  so  young 
when  he  left,  and  he  had  teased  her  so  un- 
mercifully in  those  days,  that  her  early 
memories  of  him  were  rather  mixed  in  sen- 
timent, and  now  he  appeared,  not  as  the 
unquestioned  idol  of  a  manless  family  in  a 
well-nigh  manless  town,  but  as  one  among 
many;  and  of  those  many  several  were  easily 
his  superiors. 

He  was  her  brother,  and  she  loved  him,  of 
course;  but  there  were  so  many  wanting  to 
be  "brothers"  if  not  more,  and  they  were  so 
much  more  polite!  Morton  petted,  patron- 
ized and  teased  her,  and  she  took  it  all  in 
good  part,  as  after  the  manner  of  brothers, 
but  his  demeanor  with  other  people  was  not 
to  her  mind. 


134  THE  CRUX 

His  adoring  aunt,  finding  no  fault  what- 
ever with  this  well-loved  nephew,  lavished 
upon  him  the  affection  of  her  unused 
motherhood,  and  he  seemed  to  find  it  a 
patent  joke,  open  to  everyone,  that  she 
should  be  so  fond. 

To  this  and,  indeed,  to  his  general  walk 
and  conversation,  Mrs.  Pettigrew  took  great 
exception. 

"Fine  boy — Rella's  nephew!"  she  said  to 
Dr.  Bellair  late  one  night  when,  seeing  a 
light  over  her  neighbor's  transom^  she 
dropped  in  for  a  little  chat.  Conversation 
seemed  easier  for  her  here  than  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  Bainville. 

"Fine  boy — eh?    Nice  complexion!" 

Dr.  Bellair  was  reading  a  heavy-weight 
book  by  a  heavier- weight  specialist.  She  laid 
it  down,  took  off  her  eyeglasses,  and  rubbed 
them. 

"Better  not  kiss  him,"  she  said. 

"I  though  as  much!"  said  Grandma.  "I 
thought  as  much!  Huh!" 

"Nice  world,  isn't  it?"  the  doctor  sug- 
gested genially. 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  135 

"Nothing  the  matter  with  the  world,  that 
I  know  of,"  her  visitor  answered. 

"Nice  people,  then — how's  that?" 

"Nothing  the  matter  with  the  people  but 
foolishness — plain  foolishness.  Good  land! 
Shall  we  never  learn  anything!" 

"Not  till  it's  too  late  apparently,"  the 
doctor  gloomily  agreed,  turning  slowly  in 
her  swivel  chair.  "That  boy  never  was 
taught  anything  to  protect  him.  What  did 
Rella  know?  Or  for  that  matter,  what  do  any 
boys'  fathers  and  mothers  know?  Nothing, 
you'd  think.  If  they  do,  they  won't  teach  it 
to  their  children." 

"Time  they  did!"  said  the  old  lady  de- 
cidedly. "High  time  they  did!  It's  never 
too  late  to  learn.  I've  learned  a  lot  out  of 
you  and  your  books,  Jane  Bellair.  Interest- 
ing reading !  I  don't  suppose  you  could  give 
an  absolute  opinion  now,  could  you?" 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Bellair  gravely,  "no,  I 
couldn't;  not  yet,  anyway." 

"Well,  we've  got  to  keep  our  eyes  open," 
Mrs.  Pettigrew  concluded.  "When  I  think 
of  that  girl  of  mine 

"Yes — or  any  girl,"  the  doctor  added. 


136  THE  CRUX 

"You  look  out  for  any  girl — that's  your 
business;  I'll  look  out  for  mine — if  I  can." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew's  were  not  the  only  eyes 
to  scrutinize  Morton  Elder.  Through  the 
peep-hole  in  the  swing  door  to  the  kitchen, 
Jeanne  Jeaune  watched  himj  darkly  with 
one  hand  on  her  lean  chest. 

She  kept  her  watch  on  whatever  went  on 
in  that  dining-room,  and  on  the  two  elderly 
waitresses  whom  she  had  helped  Miss  Elder 
to  secure  when  the  house  filled  up.  They 
were  rather  painfully  unattractive,  but 
seemed  likely  to  stay  where  no  young  and 
pretty  damsel  could  be  counted  on  for  a 
year.  Morton  joked  with  perseverance 
about  their  looks,  and  those  who  were  most 
devoted  to  Susie  seemed  to  admire  his  wit, 
while  Vivian's  special  admirers  found  it 
pointless  in  the  extreme. 

"Your  waitresses  are  the  limit,  Auntie," 
he  said,  "but  the  cook  is  all  to  the  good.  Is 
she  a  plain  cook  or  a  handsome  one?" 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  young 
man,"  Mrs.  Pettigrew  pointedly  replied. 
"Mrs.  Jones  is  a  first-class  cook  and  her 
looks  are  neither  here  nor  there." 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  137 

"You  fill  me  with  curiosity,"  he  replied. 
"I  must  go  out  and  make  her  acquaintance. 
I  always  get  solid  with  the  cook;  it's  worth 
while." 

The  face  at  the  peep-hole  darkened  and 
turned  away  with  a  bitter  and  determined 
look,  and  Master  Theophile  was  hastened 
at  his  work  till  his  dim  intelligence  won- 
dered, and  then  blessed  with  an  unexpected 
cookie. 

Vivian,  Morton  watched  and  followed  as- 
siduously. She  was  m^ich  changed  from 
what  he  remembered — the  young,  fright- 
ened, slender  girl  he  had  kissed  under  the 
lilac  bushes,  a  kiss  long  since  forgotten 
among  many. 

Perhaps  the  very  number  of  his  subse- 
quent acquaintances  during  a  varied  and  not 
markedly  successful  career  in  the  newer 
states  made  this  type  of  New  England 
womanhood  more  marked.  Girls  he  had 
known  of  various  sorts,  women  old  and 
young  had  been  kind  to  him,  for  Morton 
had  the  rough  good  looks  and  fluent  manner 
which  easily  find  their  way  to  the  good  will 
of  many  female  hearts;  but  this  gentle  re- 


138  THE  CRUX 

finement  of  manner  and  delicate  beauty  had 
a  novel  charm  for  him. 

Sitting  by  his  aunt  at  meals  he  studied 
Vivian  opposite,  he  watched  her  in  their  few 
quiet  evenings  together,  under  the  soft 
lamplight  on  Miss  Elder's  beloved  "center 
table;"  and  studied  her  continually  in  the 
stimulating  presence  of  many  equally  de- 
voted men. 

All  that  was  best  in  him  was  stirred  by 
her  quiet  grace,  her  reserved  friendliness; 
and  the  spur  of  rivalry  was  by  no  means 
wanting.  Both  the  girls  had  their  full  share 
of  masculine  attention  in  that  busy  houseful, 
each  having  her  own  particular  devotees, 
and  the  position  of  comforter  to  the  others. 

Morton  became  openly  devoted  to  Vivian, 
and  followed  her  about,  seeking  every  occa- 
sion to  be  alone  with  her,  a  thing  difficult  to 
accomplish. 

"I  don't  ever  get  a  chance  to  see  anything 
of  you,"  he  said.  "Come  on,  take  a  walk 
with  me — won't  you?" 

"You  can  see  me  all  day,  practically,"  she 
answered.  "It  seems  to  me  that  I  never  saw 
a  man  with  so  little  to  do." 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  139 

"Now  that's  too  bad,  Vivian!  Just  be- 
cause a  fellow's  out  of  a  job  for  a  while!  It 
isn't  the  first  time,  either;  in  my  business 
you  work  like — like  anything,  part  of  the 
time,  and  then  get  laid  off.  I  work  hard 
enough  when  I'm  at  it." 

"Do  you  like  it— that  kind  of  work?"  the 
girl  asked. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  family  parlor, 
but  the  big  hall  was  as  usual  well  occupied, 
and  some  one  or  more  of  the  boarders  always 
eager  to  come  in.  Miss  Elder  at  this  mo- 
ment had  departed  for  special  conference 
with  her  cook,  and  Susie  was  at  the  theatre 
with  Jimmie  Saunders.  Fordham  Greer 
had  asked  Vivian,  as  had  Morton  also,  but 
she  declined  both  on  the  ground  that  she 
didn't  like  that  kind  of  play.  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew,  being  joked  too  persistently  about 
her  fondness  for  "long  whist,"  had  retired  to 
her  room — but  then,  her  room  was  divided 
from  the  parlor  only  by  a  thin  partition  and 
a  door  with  a  most  inefficacious  latch. 

"Come  over  here  by  the  fire,"  said  Mor- 
ton, "and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  seated  himself  on  a  sofa,  comfortably 


140  THE  CRUX 

adjacent  to  the  fireplace,  but  Vivian  pre- 
ferred a  low  rocker. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  travelling — and  sell- 
ing goods?"  he  pursued.  "Yes,  I  like  it. 
There's  lots  of  change — and  you  meet  peo- 
ple. I'd  hate  to  be  shut  up  in  an  office." 

"But  do  you — get  anywhere  with  it?  Is 
there  any  outlook  for  you  ?  Anything  worth 
doing?" 

"There's  a  good  bit  of  money  to  be  made, 
if  you  mean  that ;  that  is,  if  a  fellow's  a  good 
salesman.  I'm  no  slouch  myself,  when  I 
feel  in  the  mood.  But  it's  easy  come,  easy 
go,  you  see.  And  it's  uncertain.  There  are 
times  like  this,  with  nothing  doing." 

"I  didn't  mean  money,  altogether,"  said 
the  girl  meditatively,  "but  the  work  itself; 
I  don't  see  any  future  for  you." 

Morton  was  pleased  with  her  interest. 
Reaching  between  his  knees  he  seized  the 
edge  of  the  small  sofa  and  dragged  it  a 
little  nearer,  quite  unconscious  that  the  act 
was  distasteful  to  her. 

Though  twenty-five  years  old,  Vivian  was 
extremely  young  in  many  ways,  and  her  in- 
trospection had  spent  itself  in  tending  the 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  141 

inner  shrine  of  his  early  image.  That  ikon 
was  now  jarringly  displaced  by  this  insistent 
presence,  and  she  could  not  satisfy  herself 
yet  as  to  whether  the  change  pleased  or  dis- 
pleased her.  Again  and  again  his  manner 
antagonized  her,  but  his  visible  devotion 
carried  an  undeniable  appeal,  and  his  voice 
stirred  the  deep  well  of  emotion  in  her  heart. 

"Look  here,  Vivian,"  he  said,  "you've  no 
idea  how  it  goes  through  me  to  have  you 
speak  like  that!  You  see  I've  been  knock- 
ing around  here  for  all  this  timle,  and  I 
haven't  had  a  soul  to  take  an  interest.  A 
fellow  needs  the  society  of  good  women — 
like  you." 

It  is  an  old  appeal,  and  always  reaches 
the  mark.  To  any  women  it  is  a  compliment, 
and  to  a  young  girl,  doubly  alluring.  As 
she  looked  at  him,  the  very  things  she  most 
disliked,  his  too  free  manner,  his  coarsened 
complexion,  a  certain  look  about  the  eyes, 
suddenly  assumed  a  new  interest  as  proofs 
of  his  loneliness  and  lack  of  right  companion- 
ship. What  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  had  told  her 
of  the  ennobling  influence  of  a  true  woman, 
flashed  upon  her  mind. 


142  THE  CRUX 

"You  see,  I  had  no  mother,"  he  said  sim- 
ply— "and  Aunt  Rella  spoiled  me — ."  He 
looked  now  like  the  boy  she  used  to  know. 

"Of  course  I  ought  to  have  behaved  bet- 
ter," he  admitted.  "I  was  ungrateful — I 
can  see  it  now.  But  it  did  seem  to  me  I 
couldn't  stand  that  town  a  day  longer!" 

She  could  sympathize  with  this  feeling 
and  showed  it. 

"Then  when  a  fellow  knocks  around  as  I 
have  so  long,  he  gets  to  where  he  doesn't  care 
a  hang  for  anything.  Seeing  you  again 
makes  a  lot  of  difference,  Vivian.  I  think, 
perhaps — I  could  take  a  new  start." 

"Oh  do!  Do!"  she  said  eagerly.  "You're 
young  enough,  Morton.  You  can  do  any- 
thing if  you'll  make  up  your  mind  to  it." 

"And  you'U  help  me?" 

"Of  course  I'll  help  you — if  I  can,"  said 
she. 

A  feeling  of  sincere  remorse  for  wasted 
opportunities  rose  in  the  young  man's  mind ; 
also,  in  the  presence  of  this  pure-eyed  girl, 
a  sense  of  shame  for  his  previous  habits.  He 
walked  to  the  window,  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  looked  out  blankly  for  a  moment. 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  143 

"A  fellow  does  a  lot  of  things  he 
shouldn't,"  he  began,  clearing  his  throat; 
she  met  him  more  than  half  way  with  the 
overflowing  generosity  of  youth  and  igno- 
rance : 

"Never  mind  what  you've  done,  Morton 
— you're  going  to  do  differently  now! 
Susie'll  be  so  proud  of  you — and  Aunt 
Orella!" 

"And  you?"  He  turned  upon  her  sud- 
denly. 

"Oh— I?  Of  course!  I  shall  be  very 
proud  of  my  old  friend." 

She  met  his  eyes  bravely,  with  a  lovely 
look  of  hope  and  courage,  and  again  his 
heart  smote  him. 

"I  hope  you  will,"  he  said  and  straightened 
his  broad  shoulders  manfully. 

"Morton  Elder!"  cried  his  aunt,  bustling 
in  with  deep  concern  in  her  voice,  "What's 
this  I  hear  about  you're  having  a  sore 
throat?" 

"Nothing,  I  hope,"  said  he  cheerfully. 

"Now,  Morton" — Vivian  showed  new  so- 
licitude— "y°u  know  you  have  got  a  sore 
throat;  Susie  told  me." 


144  THE  CRUX 

"Well,  I  wish  she'd  hold  her  tongue,"  he 
protested.  "It's  nothing  at  all — be  all  right 
in  a  jiffy.  No,  I  won't  take  any  of  your 
fixings,  Auntie." 

"I  want  Dr.  Bellair  to  look  at  it  anyhow," 
said  his  aunt,  anxiously.  "She'll  know  if  it's 
diphtheritic  or  anything.  She's  coming  in." 

"She  can  just  go  out  again,"  he  said  with 
real  annoyance.  "If  there's  anything  I've 
no  use  for  it's  a  woman  doctor!" 

"Oh  hush,  hush!"  cried  Vivian,  too  late. 

"Don't  apologize,"  said  Dr.  Bellair  from 
her  doorway.  "I'm  not  in  the  least  offended. 
Indeed,  I  had  rather  surmised  that  that  was 
your  attitude ;  I  didn't  come  in  to  prescribe, 
but  to  find  Mrs.  Pettigrew." 

'Want  me?"  inquired  the  old  lady  from 
her  doorway.  "Who's  got  a  sore  throat?" 

"Morton  has,"  Vivian  explained,  "and  he 
won't  let  Aunt  Rella — why  where  is  she?" 

Miss  Elder  had  gone  out  as  suddenly  as 
she  had  entered. 

"Camphor's  good  for  sore  throat,"  Mrs. 
Pettigrew  volunteered.  "Three  or  four 
drops  on  a  piece  of  sugar.  Is  it  the  swelled 
kind,  or  the  kind  that  smarts?" 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  145 

"Oh — Halifax!"  exclaimed  Morton,  dis- 
gustedly. "It  isn't  any  kind.  I  haven't  a 
sore  throat." 

"Camphor's  good  for  cold  sores;  you  have 
one  of  them  anyhow,"  the  old  lady  persisted, 
producing  a  little  bottle  and  urging  it  upon 
Morton.  "Just  keep  it  wet  with  camphor 
as  often  as  you  think  of  it,  and  it'll  go  away." 

Vivian  looked  on,  interested  and  sympa- 
thetic, but  Morton  put  his  hand  to  his  lip 
and  backed  away. 

"If  you  ladies  don't  stop  trying  to  doctor 
me,  I'll  clear  out  to-morrow,  so  there!" 

This  appalling  threat  was  fortunately  un- 
heard by  his  aunt,  who  popped  in  again  at 
this  moment,  dragging  Dr.  Hale  with  her. 
Dr.  Bellair  smiled  quietly  to  herself. 

"I  wouldn't  tell  him  what  I  wanted  him 
for,  or  he  wouldn't  have  come,  I'm  sure — 
doctors  are  so  funny,"  said  Miss  Elder, 
breathlessly,  "but  here  he  is.  Now,  Dr. 
Hale,  here's  a  foolish  boy  who  won't  listen 
to  reason,  and  I'm  real  worried  about  him. 
I  want  you  to  look  at  his  throat." 

Dr.  Hale  glanced  briefly  at  Morton's 
angry  face. 


146  THE  CRUX 

"The  patient  seems  to  be  of  age,  Miss  El- 
der; and,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  does  not  seem 
to  have  authorized  this  call." 

"My  affectionate  family  are  bound  to  have 
me  an  invalid,"  Morton  explained.  "I'm  in 
imminent  danger  of  hot  baths,  cold  presses, 
mustard  plasters,  aconite,  belladonna  and 
quinine — and  if  I  can  once  reach  my  hat — " 

He  sidled  to  the  door  and  fled  in  mock 
terror. 

"Thank  you  for  your  good  intentions, 
Miss  Elder,"  Dr.  Hale  remarked  drily. 
"You  can  bring  water  to  the  horse,  but  you 
can't  make  him;  drink  it,  you  see." 

"Now  that  that  young  man  has  gone  we 
might  have  a  game  of  whist,"  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew  suggested,  looking  not  ill-pleased. 

"For  which  you  do  not  need  me  in  the 
least,"  and  Dr.  Hale  was  about  to  leave,  but 
Dr.  Bellair  stopped  him. 

"Don't  be  an  everlasting  Winter  wood- 
chuck,  Dick!  Sit  down  and  play;  do  be 
good.  I've  got  to  see  old  Mrs.  Graham  yet; 
she  refuses  to  go  to  sleep  without  it — know- 
ing I'm  so  near.  By  by." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  insisted  on  playing  with 


NEW  FRIENDS  AND  OLD  147 

Miss  Elder,  so  Vivian  had  the  questionable 
pleasure  of  Dr.  Hale  as  a  partner.  He  was 
an  expert,  used  to  frequent  and  scientific 
play,  and  by  no  means  patient  with  the 
girl's  mistakes. 

He  made  no  protest  at  a  lost  trick,  but  ex- 
plained briefly  between  hands  what  she 
should  have  remembered  and  how  the  cards 
lay,  till  she  grew  quite  discouraged. 

Her  game  was  but  mediocre,  played  only 
to  oblige;  and  she  never  could  see  why  peo- 
ple cared  so  much  about  a  mere  pastime. 
Pride  came  to  her  rescue  at  last ;  the  more  he 
criticised,  the  more  determined  she  grew  to 
profit  by  all  this  advice ;  but  her  mind  would 
wander  now  and  then  to  Morton,  to  his 
young  life  so  largely  wasted,  it  appeared, 
and  to  what  hope  might  lie  before  him.  Could 
she  be  the  help  and  stimulus  he  seemed  to 
think?  How  much  did  he  mean  by  asking 
her  to  help  him? 

"Why  waste  a  thirteenth  trump  on  your 
partner's  thirteenth  card?"  Dr.  Hale  was 
asking. 

She  flushed  a  deep  rose  color  and  lifted 
appealing  eyes  to  him. 


148  THE  CRUX 

"Do  forgive  me ;  my  mind  was  elsewhere." 

"Will  you  not  invite  it  to  return?"  he 
suggested  drily. 

He  excused  himself  after  a  few  games, 
and  the  girl  at  last  was  glad  to  have  him  go. 
She  wanted  to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew,  sitting  unaccountably  late 
at  her  front  window,  watched  the  light  burn 
steadily  in  the  small  office  at  the  opposite 
corner.  Presently  she  saw  a  familiar  figure 
slip  in  there,  and,  after  a  considerable  stay, 
come  out  quietly,  cross  the  street,  and  let 
himself  in  at  their  door. 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 


SIDE  LIGHTS  149 


CHAPTER  VII. 


SIDE  LIGHTS. 

High    shines    the    golden    shield    in    front, 
To  those  who  are  not  blind; 
And  clear  and  bright 
In  all  men's  sight, 
The  silver  shield  behind. 

In  breadth  and  sheen  each  face  is  seen; 
How  tall  it  is,  how  wide; 

But  its  thinness  shows 

To  only  those 
Who  stand  on  either  side. 


THEOPHILE  wept  aloud  in  the  din- 
ing-room, nursing  one  hand  in  the 
other,  like  a  hurt  monkey. 
Most  of  the  diners  had  departed,  but  Pro- 
fessor Toomey  and  Mr.  Cuthbert  still  lin- 
gered about  Miss  Susie's  corner,  to  the  evi- 
dent displeasure  of  Mr.  Saunders,  who  lin- 
gered also. 

Miss  Susie  smiled  upon  them  all;  and  Mr. 
Saunders  speculated  endlessly  as  to  whether 
this  was  due  to  her  general  friendliness  of 


150  THE  CRUX 

disposition,  to  an  interest  in  pleasing  her 
aunt's  boarders,  to  personal  preference,  or, 
as  he  sometimes  imagined,  to  a  desire  to 
tease  him. 

Morton  was  talking  earnestly  with  Vivian 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  from  which  the 
two  angular  waitresses  had  some  time  since 
removed  the  last  plate.  One  of  them  opened 
the  swing  door  a  crack  and  thrust  her  head 
in. 

"He's  burnt  his  hand,"  she  said,  uand  his 
Ma's  out.  We  don't  dare  go  near  him." 
Both  of  these  damsels  professed  great  terror 
of  the  poor  boy,  though  he  was  invariably 
good  natured,  and  as  timid  as  a  rabbit. 

"Do  get  the  doctor!"  cried  Susie,  nerv- 
ously; she  never  felt  at  ease  with  Theophile. 

"Dr.  Bellair,  I  fear,  is  not  in  her  office," 
Professor  Toomey  announced.  "We  might 
summon  Dr.  Hale." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Mr.  Cuthbert,  rising 
heavily.  "He's  a  great  baby,  that's  all. 
Here !  Quit  that  howling  and  show  me  your 
hand!" 

He  advanced  upon  Theophile,  who  fled 
toward  Vivian.  Morton  rose  in  her  de- 


SIDE  LIGHTS  151 

fence.  "Get  out!"  he  said,  "Go  back  to  the 
kitchen.  There's  nothing  the  matter  with 
you." 

"Wait  till  you  get  burned,  and  see  if  you 
think  it's  nothing,"  Jimmy  Saunders  re- 
marked with  some  acidity.  He  did  not  like 
Mr.  Elder.  "Come  here  youngster,  let  me 
see  it." 

But  the  boy  was  afraid  of  all  of  them,  and 
cowered  in  a  corner,  still  bawling.  "Stop 
your  noise,"  Mr.  Cuthbert  shouted,  "Get 
out  of  this,  or  I'll  put  you  out." 

Vivian  rose  to  her  feet.  "You  will  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  If  you,  all  of  you,  will 
go  away,  I  can  quiet  Theophile,  myself." 

Susie  went  promptly.  She  had  every  con- 
fidence in  her  friend's  management.  Mr. 
Cuthbert  was  sulky,  but  followed  Susie;  and 
Mr.  Saunders,  after  some  hesitation,  fol- 
lowed Susie,  too. 

Morton  lingered,  distrustful. 

"Please  go,  Morton.  I  know  how  to  man- 
age him).  Just  leave  us  alone,"  Vivian  urged. 

"You'd  better  let  me  put  him  out,  and 
keep  him  out,  till  the  old  woman  comes 
back,"  Morton  insisted. 


152  THE  CRUX 

"You  mean  kindly,  I  don't  doubt,  but 
you're  making  me  very  angry,"  said  the  girl, 
flushing;  and  he  reluctantly  left  the  room. 
Professor  Toomey  had  departed  long  since, 
to  fulfill  his  suggestion  of  calling  Dr.  Hale, 
but  when  that  gentleman  appeared,  he  found 
that  Vivian  had  quieted  the  boy,  stayed  him 
with  flagons  and  comforted  him  with  apples, 
as  it  were,  and  bound  up  his  hand  in  wet 
cooking  soda. 

"It's  not  a  very  bad  burn,"  she  told  the 
doctor,  "but  it  hurt,  and  he  was  frightened. 
He  is  afraid  of  everybody  but  his  mother, 
and  the  men  were  cross  to  him." 

"I  see,"  said  Dr.  Hale,  watching  The- 
ophile  as  he  munched  his  apple,  keeping  care- 
fully behind  Vivian  and  very  near  her.  "He 
does  not  seem  much  afraid  of  you,  I  notice, 
and  he's  used  to  me.  The  soda  is  all  right. 
Where  did  you  learn  first  aid  to  the  injured, 
and  how  to  handle — persons  of  limited  un- 
derstanding?" 

"The  former  I  studied.  The  latter  comes 
by  nature,  I  think,"  replied  the  girl,  an- 
noyed. 

He   laughed,    rather   suddenly.     "It's   a 


SIDE  LIGHTS  153 

good  quality,  often  needed  in  this  world." 
.  " What's  all  this  rumpus?"  demanded 
Grandma,  appearing  at  the  door.  "Waking 
me  up  out  of  my  nap !"  Grandma's  smooth, 
fine,  still  dark  hair,  which  she  wore  in  "water 
waves,"  was  somewhat  disarranged,  and  she 
held  a  little  shawl  about  her. 

"Only  the  household  baby,  playing  with 
fire,"  Dr.  Hale  answered.  "Miss  Lane  re- 
solved herself  into  a  Red  Cross  society,  and 
attended  to  the  wounded.  However  I  think 
I'll  have  a  look  at  it  now  I'm  here." 

Then  was  Vivian  surprised,  and  compelled 
to  admiration,  to  see  with  what  wise  gentle- 
ness the  big  man  won  the  confidence  of  the 
frightened  boy,  examined  the  hurt  hand, 
and  bound  it  up  again. 

"You'll  do,  all  right,  won't  you  Theo- 
phile,"  he  said,  and  offered  him  a  shining 
nickel  and  a  lozenge,  "Which  will  you  have, 
old  man?" 

After  some  cautious  hesitation  the  boy 
chose  the  lozenge,  and  hastily  applied  it 
where  it  would  do  the  most  good. 

"Where's  Mrs.  Jones  all  this  time?"  sud- 
denly demanded  Grandma,  who  had  gone 


154  THE  CRUX 

back  to  her  room  and  fetched  forth  three 
fat,  pink  gumdrops  for  the  further  conso- 
lation of  the  afflicted. 

"She  had  to  go  out  to  buy  clothes  for  him, 
she  hardly  ever  leaves  him  you  know,"  Viv- 
ian explained.  "And  the  girls  out  there  are 
so  afraid  that  they  won't  take  any  care  of 
him." 

This  was  true  enough,  but  Vivian  did  not 
know  that  "Mrs.  Jones"  had  returned  and, 
peering  through  her  favorite  peephole,  had 
seen  her  send  out  the  others,  and  attend  to 
the  boy's  burn  with  her  own  hand.  Jeanne 
Jeaune  was  not  a  sentimental  person,  and 
judged  from  her  son's  easy  consolation  that 
he  was  little  hurt,  but  she  watched  the  girl's 
prompt  tenderness  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"She  regards  him,  as  any  other  boy;" 
thought  the  mother.  "His  infirmity,  she  does 
not  recall  it."  Dr.  Hale  had  long  since  won 
her  approval,  and  when  Theophile  at  last 
ran  out,  eager  to  share  his  gumdrops,  he 
found  her  busy  as  usual  in  the  kitchen. 

She  was  a  silent  woman,  professionally 
civil  to  the  waitresses,  but  never  cordial.  The 
place  pleased  her,  she  was  saving  money,  and 


SIDE  LIGHTS  155 

she  knew  that  there  must  be  some  waitresses 
— these  were  probably  no  worse  than  others. 
For  her  unfortunate  son  she  expected  little, 
and  strove  to  keep  him  near  her  so  far  as 
possible ;  but  Vivian's  real  kindness  touched 
her  deeply. 

She  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  whatever  went  on 
in  the  dining-room,  and  what  with  the  fre- 
quent dances  and  the  little  groups  which 
used  to  hang  about  the  table  after  meals,  or 
fill  a  corner  of  the  big  room  for  quiet  chats, 
she  had  good  opportunities. 

Morton's  visible  devotion  she  watched  with 
deep  disapproval ;  though  she  was  not  at  all 
certain  that  her  "ymmg  lady"  was  favorably 
disposed  toward  him.  She  could  see  and 
judge  the  feelings  of  the  men,  these  many 
men  who  ate  and  drank  and  laughed  and 
paid  court  to  both  the  girls.  Dr.  Hale's 
brusque  coldness  she  accepted,  as  from  a 
higher  order  of  being.  Susie's  gay  coquetries 
were  transparent  to  her;  but  Vivian  she 
could  not  read  so  well. 

The  girl's  deep  conscientiousness,  her 
courtesy  and  patience  with  all,  and  the  gentle 
way  in  which  she  evaded  the  attentions  so 


156  THE  CRUX 

persistently  offered,  were  new  to  Jeanne's 
experience.  When  Morton  hung  about  and 
tried  always  to  talk  with  Vivian  exclusively, 
she  saw  her  listen  with  kind  attention,  but 
somehow  without  any  of  that  answering 
gleam  which  made  Susie's  blue  eyes  so  irre- 
sistible. 

"She  has  the  lovers,  but  she  has  no  beauty 
— to  compare  with  my  young  lady!"  Jeanne 
comjmented  inwardly. 

If  the  sad-eyed  Jeanne  had  been  of  Scotch 
extraction  instead  of  French,  she  might  have 
quoted  the  explanation  of  the  homely  widow 
of  three  husbands  when  questioned  by  the 
good-looking  spinster,  who  closed  her  in- 
quiry by  saying  aggrievedly,  "And  ye'r  na 
sae  bonny." 

"It's  na  the  bonny  that  does  it,"  explained 
the  triple  widow,  "It's  the  come  hither  i'  the 


een." 


Susie's  eyes  sparkled  with  the  "come 
hither,"  but  those  who  came  failed  to  make 
any  marked  progress.  She  was  somewhat 
more  cautious  after  the  sudden  ap- 
proach and  overthrow  of  Mr.  A.  Smith; 
yet  more  than  one  young  gentleman  boarder 


SIDE  LIGHTS  157 

found  business  called  him  elsewhere,  with 
marked  suddenness ;  his  place  eagerly  taken 
by  another.  The  Cotton  woods  had  a  waiting 
list,  now. 

Vivian  made  friends  first,  lovers  after- 
ward. Then  if  the  love  proved  vain,  the 
friendship  had  a  way  of  lingering.  Hers  was 
one  of  those  involved  and  over-conscientious 
characters,  keenly  sensitive  to  the  thought  of 
duty  and  to  others,  pain.  She  could  not 
play  with  hearts  that  might  be  hurt  in  the 
handling,  nor  could  she  find  in  herself  a 
quick  and  simple  response  to  the  appeals 
made  to  her;  there  were  so  many  things  to 
be  considered. 

Morton  studied  her  with  more  intensity 
than  he  had  ever  before  devoted  to  another 
human  being;  his  admiration  and  respect 
grew  with  acquaintance,  and  all  that  was 
best  in  him  rose  in  response  to  her  wise, 
sweet  womanliness.  He  had  the  background 
of  their  childhood's  common  experiences  and 
her  early  sentiment — how  much  he  did  not 
know,  to  aid  him.  Then  there  was  the  un- 
known country  of  his  years  of  changeful 
travel,  many  tales  that  he  could  tell  her, 


158  THE  CRUX 

many  more  which  he  found  he  could  not. 

He  pressed  his  advantage,  cautiously, 
finding  the  fullest  response  when  he  used  the 
appeal  to  her  uplifting  influence.  When 
they  talked  in  the  dining-room  the  sombre 
eye  at  the  peephole  watched  with  growing 
disapproval.  The  kitchen  was  largely  left 
to  her  and  her  son  by  her  fellow  work- 
ers, on  account  of  their  nervous  dislike  for 
Theophile,  and  she  utilized  her  opportuni- 
ties. 

Vivian  had  provided  the  boy  with  some  big 
bright  picture  blocks,  and  he  spent  happy 
hours  in  matching  them  on  the  white  scoured 
table,  while  his  mother  sewed,  and  watched. 
He  had  forgotten  his  burn  by  now,  and  she 
sewed  contentedly  for  there  was  no  one  talk- 
ing to  her  young  lady  but  Dr.  Hale,  who  lin- 
gered unaccountably. 

To  be  sure,  Vivian  had  brought  him  a  plate 
of  cakes  from,  the  pantry,  and  he  seemed  to 
find  the  little  brown  things  efficiently  seduc- 
tive, or  perhaps  it  was  Grandma  who  held 
him,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  her  usual  place, 
at  the  head  of  one  table,  and  asking  a  series 
of  firm  but  friendly  questions.  This  she 


SIDE  LIGHTS  159 

found  the  only  way  of  inducing  Dr.  Hale  to 
talk  at  all. 

Yes,  he  was  going  away — Yes,  he  would 
be  gone  some  time — A  matter  of  weeks,  per- 
haps— He  could  not  say — His  boys  were  all 
well — He  did  not  wonder  that  they  saw  a 
good  deal  of  them — It  was  a  good  place  for 
them  to  come. 

"You  might  come  oftener  yourself,"  said 
Grandma,  "and  play  real  whist  with  me. 
These  young  people  play  Bridge!"  She 
used  this  word  with  angry  scorn,  as  symbol 
of  all  degeneracy;  and  also  despised 
pinochle,  refusing  to  learn  it,  though  any  one 
could  induce  her  to  play  bezique.  Some  of 
the  more  venturous  and  argumentative, 
strove  to  persuade  her  that  the  games  were 
really  the  same. 

"You  needn't  tell  me,"  Mrs.  Pettigrew 
would  say,  "I  don't  want  to  play  any  of  your 
foreign  games." 

"But,  Madam,  bezique  is  not  an  English 
word,"  Professor  Toomey  had  insisted,  on 
one  occasion;  to  which  she  had  promptly  re- 
sponded, "Neither  is  'bouquet!'  " 

Dr.  Hale  shook  his  head  with  a  smile,    He 


160  THE  CRUX 

had  a  very  nice  smile,  even  Vivian  admitted 
that.  All  the  hard  lines  of  his  face  curved 
and  melted,  and  the  light  came  into  those 
deep-set  eyes  and  shone  warmly. 

"I  should  enjoy  playing  whist  with  you 
very  often,  Mrs.  Pettigrew;  but  a  doctor 
has  no  time  to  call  his  own.  And  a  good 
game  of  whist  must  not  be  interrupted  by 
telephones." 

"There's  Miss  Orella!"  said  Grandma,  as 
the  front  door  was  heard  to  open.  "She's 
getting  to  be  quite  a  gadder." 

"It  does  her  good,  I  don't  doubt,"  the  doc- 
tor gravely  remarked,  rising  to  go.  Miss 
Orella  met  him  in  the  hall,  and  bade  him 
good-bye  with  regret.  "We  do  not  see  much 
of  you,  doctor;  I  hope  you'll  be  back  soon." 

"Why  it's  only  a  little  trip ;  you  good  peo- 
ple act  as  if  I  were  going  to  Alaska,"  he  said, 
"It  mjakes  me  feel  as  if  I  had  a  family!" 

"Pity  you  haven't,"  remarked  Grandma 
with  her  usual  definiteness.  Dykeman  stood 
holding  Miss  Orella's  wrap,  with  his  dry 
smile.  "Good-bye,  Hale,"  he  said.  "I'll 
chaperon  your  orphan  asylum  for  you.  So 
long." 


SIDE  LIGHTS  161 

"Come  out  into  the  dining-room,"  said 
Miss  Orella,  after  Dr.  Hale  had  departed. 
"I  know  you  must  be  hungry,"  and  Mr. 
Dykeman  did  not  deny  it.  In  his  quiet  mid- 
dle-aged way,  he  enjoyed  this  enlarged  fam- 
ily circle  as  much  as  the  younger  fellows,  and 
he  and  Mr.  Unwin  seemed  to  vie  with  one 
another  to  convince  Miss  Orella  that  life  still 
held  charms  for  her.  Mr.  Skee  also  hovered 
about  her  to  a  considerable  extent,  but  most 
of  his  devotion  was  bestowed  upon  damsels 
of  extreme  youth. 

"Here's  one  that's  hungry,  anyhow,"  re- 
marked Dr.  Bellair,  coming  out  of  her  office 
at  the  moment,  with  her  usual  clean  and 
clear-starched  appearance.  "I've  been  at  it 
for  eighteen  hours,  with  only  bites  to  eat. 
Yes,  all  over;  both  doing  well." 

It  was  a  source  of  deep  self -congratula- 
tion to  Dr.  Bellair  to  watch  her  friend  grow 
young  again  in  the  new  atmosphere.  To 
Susie  it  appeared  somewhat  preposterous, 
as  her  Aunt  seems  to  her  mind  a  perma- 
nently elderly  person;  while  to  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew  it  looked  only  natural.  "Rella's  only 
a  young  thing  anyway,"  was  her  comment. 


162  THE  CRUX 

But  Jane  Bellair  marked  and  approved  the 
added  grace  of  each  new  gown,  the  blossom- 
ing of  lace  and  ribbon,  the  appearance  of 
long-hoarded  bits  of  family  jewelry,  things 
held  "too  showy  to  wear"  in  Bainville,  but 
somehow  quite  appropriate  here. 

Vivian  and  Grandma  made  Miss  Orella  sit 
down  at  her  own  table  head,  and  bustled 
about  in  the  pantry,  bringing  cheese  and 
crackers,  cake  and  fruit;  but  -the  doctor 
poked  her  head  through  the  swing  door  and 
demanded  meat. 

"I  don't  want  a  refection,  I  want  food," 
she  said,  and  Jeanne  cheerfully  brought  her 
a  plate  of  cold  beef.  She  was  much  attached 
to  Dr.  Bellair,  for  reasons  many  and  good. 

"What  I  like  about  this  place,"  said  Mrs. 
Pettigrew,  surveying  the  scene  from  the  head 
of  her  table,  "is  that  there's  always  some- 
thing going  on." 

"What  I  like  about  it,"  remarked  Dr.  Bel- 
lair, between  well-Fletcherized  mouthfuls, 
"is  that  people  have  a  chance  to  grow  and 
are  growing." 

"What  I  like,"  Mr.  Dykeman  looked 
about  him,  and  paused  in  the  middle  of  a 


SIDE  LIGHTS  163 

jt 

sentence,  as  was  his  wont;  "is  being  beauti- 
fully taken  care  of  and  made  comfortable — 
any  man  likes  that." 

Miss  Orella  beamed  upon  him.  Embold- 
ened, he  went  on :  "And  what  I  like  most  is 
the  new,  delightful" — he  was  gazing  admir- 
ingly at  her,  and  she  looked  so  embarrassed 
that  he  concluded  with  a  wide  margin  of 
safety — "friends  I'm  making." 

Miss  Orella's  rosy  flush,  which  had  risen 
under  his  steady  gaze,  ebbed  again  to  her 
usual  soft  pink.  Even  her  coldest  critics, 
in  the  most  caustic  Bainvillian  "circles,  could 
never  deny  that  she  had  "a  good  complex- 
ion." New  England,  like  old  England,  loves 
roses  on  the  cheeks,  and  our  dry  Western 
winds  play  havoc  with  them.  But  Miss  Orel- 
la's  blooded  brighter  than  at  home. 

"It  is  pleasant,"  she  said  softly;  "all  this 
coming  and  going — and  the  nice  people — 
who  stay."  She  looked  at  no  one  in  particu- 
lar, yet  Mr.  Dykeman  seemed  pleased. 

"There's  another  coming,  I  guess,"  re- 
marked Grandma,  as  a  carriage  was  heard 
to  stop  outside,  the  gate  slammed,  and 
trunk  -  burdened  steps  pounded  heavily 


164  THE  CRUX 

across  the  piazza.  The  bell  rang  sharply, 
Mr.  Dykeman  opened  the  door,  and  the 
trunk  came  in  first — a  huge  one,  dumped 
promptly  on  the  hall  floor. 

Behind  the  trunk  and  the  man  beneath  it 
entered  a  lady;  slim,  elegant,  graceful,  in  a 
rich  silk  dust  coat  and  soft  floating  veils. 

"Mr.  dear  Miss  Elder!"  she  said,  coming 
forward;  "and  Vivian!  Dear  Vivian!  I 
thought  you  could  put  me  up,  somewhere, 
and  told  him  to  come  right  here.  O — and 
please — I  haven't  a  bit  of  change  left  in  my 
purse — will  you  pay  the  man?" 

"Well,  if  it  isn't  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,"  said 
Grandma,  without  any  note  of  welcome  in 
her  voice. 

Mr.  Dykeman  paid  the  man;  looked  at 
the  trunk,  and  paid  him  some  more.  The 
man  departed  swearing  softly  at  nothing  in 
particular,  and  Mr.  Dykeman  departed  also 
to  his  own  room. 

Miss  Orella's  hospitable  soul  was  much 
exercised.  Refuse  shelter  to  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, a  guest,  however  unexpected,  she  could 
not;  yet  she  had  no  vacant  room.  Vivian, 
flushed  and  excited,  moved  anew  by  her  old 


SIDE  LIGHTS  165 

attraction,  eagerly  helped  the  visitor  take 
off  her  wraps,  Mrs.  Pettigrew  standing  the 
while,  with  her  arms  folded,  in  the  doorway 
of  her  room,  her  thin  lips  drawn  to  a  hard 
line,  as  one  intending  to  repel  boarders  at 
any  risk  to  life  or  limb.  Dr.  Eellair  had  re- 
turned to  her  apartments  at  the  first  sound 
of  the  visitor's  voice. 

She,  gracious  and  calm  in  the  midst 
of  confusion,  sat  in  a  wreath  of  down- 
dropped  silken  wrappings,  and  held  Viv- 
ian's hand. 

"You  dear  child!"  she  said,  "how  well  you 
look!  What  a  charming  place  this  is.  The 
doctors  sent  me  West  for  my  health;  I'm  on 
my  way  to  California.  *  But  when  I  found 
the  train  stopped  here — I  didn't  know  that 
it  did  till  I  saw  the  name — I  had  them  take 
my  trunk  right  off,  and  here  I  am!  It  is 
such  a  pleasure  to  see  you  all." 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  and  disap- 
peared completely,  closing  the  door  behind 
her. 

"Anything  will  do,  Miss  Elder,"  the  visi- 
tor went  on.  "I  shall  find  a  hall  bedroom 
palatial  after  a  sleeping  car;  or  a  garret — 


166  THE  CRUX 

anything!  It's  only  for  a  few  days,  you 
know." 

Vivian  was  restraining  herself  from  hos- 
pitable offers  by  remembering  that  her  room 
was  also  Susie's,  and  Miss  Orella  well  knew 
that  to  give  up  hers  meant  sleeping  on  a 
hard,  short  sofa  in  that  all-too-public  parlor. 
She  was  hastily  planning  in  her  mind  to 
take  Susie  in  with  her  and  persuade  Mrs. 
Pettigrew  to  harbor  Vivian,  somewhat  de- 
terred by  memories  of  the  old  lady's  expres- 
sion as  she  departed,  when  Mr.  Dykeman 
appeared  at  the  door,  suitcase  in  hand. 

"I  promised  Hale  I'd  keep  house  for  those 
fatherless  boys,  you  know,"  he  said.  "In 
the  meantime,  you're  quite  welcome  to  use 
my  room,  Miss  Elder."  And  he  departed, 
her  blessing  going  with  him. 

More  light  refreshments  were  now  in 
order,  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  protesting  that  she 
wanted  nothing,  but  finding  much  to  praise 
in  the  delicacies  set  before  her.  Several  of 
the  other  boarders  drifted  in,  always  glad  of 
an  extra  bite  before  going  to  bed.  Susie  and 
Mr.  Saunders  returned  from  a  walk,  Morton 
reappeared,  and  Jeanne,  peering  sharply  in, 


SIDE  LIGHTS   ;  .  167 

resentful  of  this  new  drain  upon  her  pantry 
shelves,  saw  a  fair,  sweet-faced  woman, 
seated  at  ease,  eating  daintily,  while  Miss 
Elder  and  Vivian  waited  upon  her,  and  the 
men  all  gathered  admiringly  ahout.  Jeanne 
Jeaune  wagged  her  head.  "Ah, ha, Madame!" 
she  muttered  softly,  "Such  as  you  I  have 
met  before!"  Theophile  she  had  long  since 
sent  to  bed,  remaining  up  herself  to  keep  an 
eye  on  the  continued  disturbance  in  the  front 
of  the  house.  Vivian  and  Susie  brought  the 
dishes  out,  and  would  have  washed  them  or 
left  them  till  morning  for  the  maids. 

"Truly,  no,"  said  Jeanne  Jeaune;  "go  you 
to  your  beds;  I  will  attend  to  these." 

One  by  one  she  heard  them  go  upstairs, 
distant  movement  and  soft  dissuasion  as 
two  gentlemen  insisted  on  bearing  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud's  trunk  into  her  room,  receding  voices 
and  closing  doors.  There  was  no  sound  in 
the  dining-room  now,  but  still  she  waited; 
the  night  was  not  yet  quiet. 

Miss  Elder  and  Susie,  Vivian  also,  hov- 
ered about,  trying  to  make  this  new  guest 
comfortable,  in  spite  of  her  graceful  pro- 
tests that  they  must  not  concern  themselves 


168  THE  CRUX 

in  the  least  about  her,  that  she  wanted  noth- 
ing— absolutely  nothing.  At  last  they  left 
her,  and  still  later,  after  some  brief  exchange 
of  surprised  comment  and  warm  apprecia- 
tion of  Mr.  Dykeman's  thoughtfulness,  the 
family  retired.  Vivian,  when  her  long  hair 
was  smoothly  braided  for  the  night,  felt  an 
imperative  need  for  water. 

"Don't  you  want  some,  Susie?  I'll  bring 
you  a  glass."  But  Susie  only  huddled  the 
bedclothes  about  her  pretty  shoulders  and 
said: 

"Don't  bring  me  anything,  until  to-mor- 
row morning!" 

So  her  room-mate  stole  out  softly  in  her 
wrapper,  remlembering  that  a  pitcher  of  cool 
water  still  stood  on  one  of  the  tables.  The 
windows  to  the  street  let  in  a  flood  of  light 
from  a  big  street  lamp,  and  she  found  her 
way  easily,  but  was  a  bit  startled  for  a  mo- 
ment to  find  a  man  still  sitting  there,  his 
head  upon  his  arms. 

"Why,  Morton,"  she  said;  "is  that  you? 
What  are  you  sitting  up  for?  It's  awfully 
late.  I'm  just  after  some  water."  She 
poured  a  glassful.  "Don't  you  want  some?" 


SIDE  LIGHTS  169 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  will. 
Give  me  some,  please." 

The  girl  gave  him  a  glass,  drank  from  her 
own  and  and  set  it  down,  turning  to  go,  but 
he  reached  out  and  caught  a  flowing  sleeve 
of  her  kimono. 

"Don't  go,  Vivian!  Do  sit  down  and  talk 
to  a  fellow.  I've  been  trying  to  see  you  for 
days  and  days." 

"Why,  Morton  Elder,  how  absurd!  You 
have  certainly  seen  me  every  day,  and  we've 
talked  hours  this  very  evening.  This  is  no 
time  for  conversation,  surely." 

"The  best  time  in  the  world,"  he  assured 
her.  "All  the  other  times  there  are  people 
about — dozens — hundreds — swarms !  I  want 
to  talk  to  just  you." 

There  were  certainly  no  dozens  or  hun- 
dreds about  now,  but  as  certainly  there  was 
one,  noting  with  keen  and  disapproving  in- 
terest this  midnight  tete-a-tete.  It  did  not 
last  very  long,  and  was  harmless  and  imper- 
sonal enough  while  it  lasted. 

Vivian  sat  for  a  few  moments,  listening 
patiently  while  the  young  man  talked  of  his 
discouragements,  his  hopes,  his  wishes  to 


170  THE  CRUX 

succeed  in  life,  to  be  worthy  of  her ;  but  when 
the  personal  note  sounded,  when  he  tried  to 
take  her  hand  in  the  semi-darkness,  then  her 
New  England  conscience  sounded  also,  and 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  left  him. 

"We'll  talk  about  that  another  time,"  she 
said.  "Now  do  be  quiet  and  do  not  wake 
people  up." 

He  stole  upstairs,  dutifully,  and  she 
crept  softly  back  to  her  room  and  got  into 
bed,  without  eliciting  more  than  a  mild 
grunt  from  sleepy  Susie.  Silence  reigned 
at  last  in  the  house.  Not  for  long,  how- 
ever. 

At  about  half  past  twelve  Dr.  Bellair  was 
roused  from  a  well-earned  sleep  by  a  light, 
insistent  tap  upon  her  door.  She  listened, 
believing  it  to  be  a  wind-stirred  twig;  but 
no,  it  was  a  finger  tap — quiet — repeated. 
She  opened  the  door  upon  Jeanne  in  her 
stocking  feet. 

"Your  pardon,  Mrs.  Doctor,"  said  the 
visitor,  "but  it  is  of  importance.  May  I 
speak  for  a  little?  No,  I'm  not  ill,  and  we 
need  not  a  light." 

They  sat  in  the  clean  little  office,  the  sway- 


SIDE  LIGHTS  171 

ing  cottonwood  boughs  making  a  changeful 
pattern  on  the  floor. 

"You  are  a  doctor,  and  you  can  make  an 
end  to  it — you  must  make  an  end  to  it,"  said 
Jeanne,  after  a  little  hesitation.  "This  young 
man — this  nephew — he  must  not  marry  my 
young  lady." 

"What  makes  you  think  he  wants  to?" 
asked  the  doctor. 

"I  have  seen,  I  have  heard — I  know,"  said 
Jeanne.  "You  know,  all  can  see  that  he 
loves  her.  He!  Not  such  as  he  for  my 
young  lady." 

"Why  do  you  object  to  him,  Jeanne?" 

"He  has  lived  the  bad  life,"  said  the  wo- 
man, grimly. 

"Most  young  men  are  open  to  criticism," 
said  Dr.  Bellair.  "Have  you  anything 
definite  to  tell  me — anything  that  you  could 
prove? — if  it  were  necessary  to  save  her?" 
She  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  knees. 

Jeanne  sat  in  the  flickering  shadows, 
considering  her  words.  "He  has  had  the 
sickness,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Can  you  prove  that?" 

"I  can  prove  to  you,  a  doctor,  that  Coralie 


172  THE  CRUX 

and  Anastasia  and  Estelle — they  have  had  it. 
They  are  still  alive;  but  not  so  beautiful." 

"Yes;  but  how  can  you  prove  it  on  him?" 

"I  know  he  was  with  them.  Well,  it  was 
no  secret.  I  myself  have  seen — he  was  there 
often." 

"How  on  earth  have  you  managed  not  to 
be  recognized?"  Dr.  Bellair  inquired  after  a 
few  moments. 

Jeanne  laughed  bitterly.  "That  was  eight 
years  ago;  he  was  but  a  boy — gay  and  fool- 
ish, with  the  others.  What  does  a  boy  know? 
.  .  .  Also,  at  that  time  I  was  blonde,  and 
— of  a  difference." 

"I  see,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  see!  That's 
pretty  straight.  You  know  personally  of 
that  time,  and  you  know  the  record  of  those 
others.  But  that  was  a  long  time  ago." 

"I  have  heard  of  him  since,  many  times, 
in  such  company,"  said  Jeanne.  They  sat 
in  silence  for  some  time.  A  distant  church 
clock  struck  a  single  deep  low  note.  The 
woman  rose,  stood  for  a  hushed  moment, 
suddenly  burst  forth  with  hushed  intensity: 
"You  must  save  her,  doctor — you  will!  I 
was  young  once,"  she  went  on.  "I  did  not 


SIDE  LIGHTS  173 

know— as  she  does  not.  I  married,  and — 
that  came  to  me!  It  made  me  a  devil — for 
awhile.  Tell  her,  doctor— if  you  must;  tell 
her  about  my  boy!" 

She  went  away,  weeping  silently,  and  Dr. 
Bellair  sat  sternly  thinking  in  her  chair,  and 
fell  asleep  in  it  from  utter  weariness. 


174  THE  CRUX 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A  MIXTURE. 

In  poetry  and  painting  and  fiction  we  see 

Such  praise  for  the  Dawn  of  the  Day, 
We've  long  since  been  convinced  that  a  sunrise  must  be 

All  Glorious  and  Golden  and  Gay. 

But  we  find  there  are  mornings  quite  foggy  and  drear, 
With  the  clouds  in  a  low-hanging  pall; 

Till  the  grey  light  of  daylight  can  hardly  make  clear 
That  the  sun  has  arisen  at  all. 


DR .  RICHARD    HALE    left   his 
brood  of  temporary  orphans  with- 
out really  expecting  for  them  any 
particular  oversight   from  Andrew  Dyke- 
man;   but   the   two   were   sufficiently  close 
friends  to  well  warrant  the  latter  in  moving 
over  to  The  Monastery — as  Jimmie  Saund- 
ers  called  it. 

Mr.  Dykeman  was  sufficiently  popular 
with  the  young  men  to  be  welcome,  even  if 
he  had  not  a  had  a  good  excuse,  and  when 
they  found  how  super-excellent  his  excuse 
was  they  wholly  approved. 


A  MIXTURE  175 

To  accommodate  Miss  Orella  was  some- 
thing— all  the  boys  liked  Miss  Orella.  They 
speculated  among  themselves  on  her  increas- 
ing youth  and  good  looks,  and  even  ex- 
changed sagacious  theories  as  to  the  par- 
ticular acting  cause.  But  when  they  found 
that  Mr.  Dykeman's  visit  was  to  make  room 
for  the  installation  of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,  they 
were  more  than  pleased. 

All  the  unexpressed  ideals  of  masculine 
youth  seemed  centered  in  this  palely  grace- 
ful lady;  the  low,  sweet  voice,  the  delicate 
hands,  the  subtle  sympathy  of  manner,  the 
nameless,  quiet  charm  of  dress. 

Young  Burns  became  her  slave  on  sight, 
Lawson  and  Peters  fell  on  the  second  day; 
not  one  held  out  beyond  the  third.  Even 
Susie's  attractions  paled,  her  very  youth  be- 
came a  disadvantage;  she  lacked  that  large 
considering  tenderness. 

"Fact  is,"  Mr.  Peters  informed  his  friends 
rather  suddenly,  "young  women  are  selfish. 
Naturally,  of  course.  It  takes  some  experi- 
ence to — well,  to  understand  a  fellow."  They 
all  agreed  with  him. 

Mr.  Dykeman,  quiet  and  reserved  as  al- 


176  THE  CRUX 

ways,  was  gravely  polite  to  the  newcomer, 
and  Mr.  Skee  revolved  at  a  distance,  making 
observations.  Occasionally  he  paid  some 
court  to  her,  at  which  times  she  was  cold  to 
him;  and  again  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
other  ladies  with  his  impressive  air,  as  of  one 
bowing  low  and  sweeping  the  floor  with  a 
plumed  hat. 

Mr.  Skee's  Stetson  had,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  no  sign  of  plumage,  and  his  bows  were 
of  a  somewhat  jerky  order;  but  his  gallantry 
was  sweeping  and  impressive,  none  the  less. 
If  he  remained  too  far  away  Mrs.  St.  Cloud 
would  draw  him  to  her  circle,  which  con- 
sisted of  all  the  other  gentlemen. 

There  were  two  exceptions.  Mr.  James 
Saunders  had  reached  the  stage  where  any 
woman  besides  Susie  was  but  a  skirted  ghost, 
and  Morton  was  by  this  time  so  deeply  de- 
voted to  Vivian  that  he  probably  would  not 
have  wavered  even  if  left  alone.  He  was 
not  wholly  a  free  agent,  however. 

Adela  St.  Cloud  had  reached  an  age  when 
something  must  be  done.  Her  mysterious 
absent  husband  had  mysteriously  and  ab- 
sently died,  and  still  she  never  breathed  a 


A  MIXTURE  177 

word  against  him.  But  the  Bible  Class  in 
Bainville  furnished  no  satisfactory  material 
for  further  hopes,  the  place  of  her  earlier 
dwelling  seemed  not  wholly  desirable  now, 
and  the  West  had  called  her. 

Finding  herself  comfortably  placed  in  Mr. 
Dybeman's  room,  and  judging  from  the 
number  of  his  shoe-trees  and  the  quality  of 
his  remaining  toilet  articles  that  he  might  be 
considered  "suitable,"  she  decided  to  remain 
in  the  half-way  house  for  a  season.  So  set- 
tled, why,  for  a  thousand  reasons  one  must 
keep  one's  hand  in. 

There  were  men  in  plenty,  from  twenty 
year  old  Archie  to  the  uncertain  decades  of 
Mr.  Skee.  Idly  amusing  herself,  she  ques- 
tioned that  gentleman  indirectly  as  to  his 
age,  drawing  from  him  astounding  memories 
of  the  previous  century. 

When  confronted  with  historic  proof  that 
the  events  he  described  were  over  a  hundred 
years  passed,  he  would  apologize,  admitting 
that  he  had  no  memory  for  dates.  She  owned 
one  day,  with  gentle  candor,  to  being  thirty- 
three. 

"That  must  seem  quite  old  to  a  man  like 


178  THE  CRUX 

you,  Mr.  Skee.  I  feel  very  old  sometimes!" 
She  lifted  large  eyes  to  him,  and  drew  her 
filmy  scarf  around  her  shoulders. 

"Your  memory  must  be  worse  than  mine, 
ma'am,"  he  replied,  "and  work  the  same  way. 
You've  sure  got  ten  or  twenty  years  added 
on  superfluous!  Now  me!"  He  shook  his 
head;  "I  don't  remember  when  I  was  born 
at  all.  And  losin'  my  folks  so  young,  and 
the  family  Bible — I  don't  expect  I  ever 
shall.  But  I  'low  I'm  all  of  ninety-seven." 

This  being  palpably  impossible,  and  as  the 
only  local  incidents  he  could  recall  in  his 
youth  were  quite  dateless  adventures  among 
the  Indians,  she  gave  it  up.  Why  Mr.  Skee 
should  have  interested  her  at  all  was  dif- 
ficult to  say,  unless  it  was  the  appeal  to  his 
uncertainty — he  was  at  least  a  game  fish,  if 
not  edible. 

Of  the  women  she  met,  Susie  and  Vivian 
were  far  the  most  attractive,  wherefore  Mrs. 
St.  Cloud,  with  subtle  sympathy  and  engag- 
ing frankness,  fairly  cast  Mr.  Saunders  in 
Susie's  arms,  and  vice  versa,  as  opportunity 
occurred. 

Morton  she  rather  snubbed,  treated  him 


'A  MIXTURE  179 

as  a  mere  boy,  told  tales  of  his  childhood  that 
were  in  no  way  complimentary — so  that  he 
fled  from  her. 

With  Vivian  she  renewed  her  earlier  in- 
fluence to  a  great  degree. 

With  some  inquiry  and  more  intuition  she 
discovered  what  it  was  that  had  chilled  the 
girl's  affection  for  her. 

"I  don't  wonder,  my  dear  child,"  she  said ; 
"I  never  told  you  of  that — I  never  speak  of 
it  to  anyone.  ...  It  was  one  of  the — " 
she  shivered  slightly — "darkest  griefs  of  a 
very  dark  time.  .  .  .  He  was  a  beauti- 
ful boy.  ...  I  never  dreamed " 

The  slow  tears  rose  in  her  beautiful  eyes 
till  they  shone  like  shimmering  stars. 

"Heaven  send  no  such  tragedy  may  ever 
come  into  your  life,  dear !" 

She  reached  a  tender  hand  to  clasp  the 
girl's.  "I  am  so  glad  of  your  happiness!" 

Vivian  was  silent.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
she  was  not  happy  enough  to  honestly  ac- 
cept sympathy.  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  mistook 
her  attitude,  or  seemed  to. 

"I  suppose  you  still  blame  me.  Many 
people  did.  I  often  blame  myself.  One  can- 


180  THE  CRUX 

not  be  too  careful.  It's  a  terrible  responsi- 
bility, Vivian — to  have  a  man  love  you." 

The  girl's  face  grew  even  more  somber. 
That  was  one  thing  which  was  troubling  her. 

"But  your  life  is  all  before  you,"  pursued 
the  older  woman.  "Your  dream  has  come 
true!  How  happy — how  wonderfully  hap- 
py you  must  be!" 

"I  am  not,  not  really"  said  the  girl.  "At 
least " 

"I  know — I  know;  I  understand,"  Mrs. 
St.  Cloud  nodded  with  tender  wisdom.  "You 
are  not  sure.  Is  not  that  it?" 

That  was  distinctly  "it,"  and  Vivian  so 
agreed. 

"There  is  no  other  man?" 

"Not  the  shadow  of  one!"  said  the  girl 
firmly.  And  as  her  questioner  had  studied 
the  field  and  made  up  her  mind  to  the  same 
end,  she  believed  her. 

"Then  you  must  not  mind  this  sense  of 
uncertainty.  It  always  happens.  It  is  part 
of  the  morning  clouds  of  maidenhood,  my 
dear — it  vanishes  with  the  sunrise!"  And 
she  smiled  beatifically. 

Then  the  girl  unburdened  herself  of  her 


A  MIXTURE  181 

perplexities.  She  could  always  express  her- 
self so  easily  to  this  sympathetic  friend. 

"There  are  so  many  things  that  I — dislike 
—about  him/  she  said.  ' 'Habits  of  speech — 
of  manners.  He  is  not — not  what  I " 

She  paused. 

"Not  all  the  Dream!  Ah!  My  dear  child, 
they  never  are !  We  are  given  these  beauti- 
ful ideals  to  guard  and  guide  us ;  but  the  real 
is  never  quite  the  same.  But  when  a  man's 
soul  opens  to  you — when  he  loves — these 
small  things  vanish.  They  can  be  changed — 
you  will  change  them." 

"Yes — he  says  so,"  Vivian  admitted.  "He 
says  that  he  knows  that  he  is — unworthy — > 
and  has  done  wrong  things.  But  so  have  I, 
for  that  matter." 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud  agreed  with  her.  "I  am 
glad  you  feel  that,  my  dear.  Men  have  their 
temptations — their  vices — and  we  good  wo- 
men are  apt  to  be  hard  on  them.  But  have 
we  no  faults?  Ah,  my  dear,  I  have  seen 
good  women — young  girls,  like  yourself — 
ruin  a  man's  whole  life  by — well,  by  heart- 
lessness;  by  lack  of  understanding.  Most 
young  men  do  things  they  become  ashamed 


182  THE  CRUX 

of  when  they  really  love.  And  in  the  case 
of  a  motherless  boy  like  this — lonely,  away 
from  his  home,  no  good  woman's  influence 
about — what  else  could  we  expect?  But  you 
can  make  a  new  man  of  him.  A  glorious 
work!" 

"That's  what  he  says.  I'm  not  so  sure — " 
The  girl  hesitated. 

"Not  sure  you  can?  Oh,  my  child,  it  is 
the  most  beautiful  work  on  earth!  To  see 
from  year  to  year  a  strong,  noble  character 
grow  under  your  helping  hand!  To  be  the 
guiding  star,  the  inspiration  of  a  man's  life. 
To  live  to  hear  him  say : 

"  'Ah,  who  am  I  that  God  should  bow 

From  heaven  to  choose  a  wife  for  me? 
What  have  I  done  He  should  endow 
My  home  with  thee?'" 

There  was  a  silence. 

Vivian's  dark  eyes  shone  with  apprecia- 
tion for  the  tender  beauty  of  the  lines,  the 
lovely  thought.  Then  she  arose  and  walked 
nervously  across  the  floor,  returning  pres- 
ently. 

"Mrs.  St.  Cloud " 

"Call  me  Adela,  my  dear." 


A  MIXTURE  183 

"Adela  —  dear  Adela  —  you  —  you  have 
been  married.  I  have  no  mother.  Tell  me, 
ought  not  there  to  be  more — more  love?  I'm 
fond  of  Morton,  of  course,  and  I  do  want  to 
help  him — but  surely,  if  I  loved  him — I 
should  feel  happier — more  sure !" 

"The  first  part  of  love  is  often  very  con- 
fusing, my  dear.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is :  just 
because  you  are  a  woman  grown  and  feel 
your  responsibilities,  especially  here,  where 
you  have  so  many  men  friends,  you  keep 
Morton  at  a  distance.  Then  the  external 
sort  of  cousinly  affection  you  have  for  him 
rather  blinds  you  to  other  feelings.  But  I 
have  not  forgotten — and  I'm  sure  you  have 
not —  the  memory  of  that  hot,  sweet  night 
so  long  ago ;  the  world  swimming  in  summer 
moonlight  and  syringa  sweetness;  the  still- 
ness everywhere — and  your  first  kiss !" 

Vivian  started  to  her  feet.  She  moved  to 
the  window  and  stood  awhile ;  came  back  and 
kissed  her  friend  warmly,  and  went  away 
without  another  word. 

The  lady  betook  herself  to  her  toilet,  and 
spent  some  time  on  it,  for  there  was  one  of 
Miss  Feeder's  classes  that  night. 


184  THE  CRUX 

L. 

Mrs.   St.  Cloud  danced  with  many,  but 

most  with  Mr.  Dykeman;  no  woman  in  the 
room  had  her  swimming  grace  of  motion, 
and  yet,  with  all  the  throng  of  partners  about 
her  she  had  time  to  see  Susie's  bright  head 
bobbing  about  beneath  Mr.  Saunders  down- 
bent,  happy  face,  and  Vivian,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down,  dancing  with  Morton,  whose  gaze 
never  left  her.  He  was  attention  itself,  he 
brought  her  precisely  the  supper  she  liked, 
found  her  favorite  corner  to  rest  in,  took  her 
to  sit  on  the  broad  piazza  between  dances, 
remained  close  to  her,  still  talking  earnestly, 
when  all  the  outsiders  had  gone. 

Vivian  found  it  hard  to  sleep  that  night. 
All  that  he  had  said  of  his  new  hope,  new 
power,  new  courage,  bore  out  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud's  bright  promise  of  a  new-built  life. 
And  some  way,  as  she  had  listened  and  did 
not  forbid,  the  touch  of  his  hand,  the  pres- 
sure of  his  arm,  grew  warmer  and  brought 
back  the  memories  of  that  summer  night  so 
long  ago. 

He  had  begged  hard  for  a  kiss  before  he 
left  her,  and  she  quite  had  to  tear  herself 
away,  as  Susie  drifted  in,  also  late;  and  Aunt 


A  MIXTURE  185 

Orella  said  they  must  all  go  to  bed  right 
away — she  was  tired  if  they  were  not. 

She  did  look  tired.  This  dance  seemed 
somehow  less  agreeable  to  her  than  had 
others.  She  took  off  her  new  prettinesses 
and  packed  them  away  in  a  box  in  the  lower 
drawer. 

"I'm  an  old  fool!"  she  said.  "Trying  to 
dress  up  like  a  girl.  I'm  ashamed  of  my- 
self!" Quite  possibly  she  did  not  sleep  well 
either,  yet  she  had  no  room-mate  to  keep  her 
awake  by  babbling  on,  as  Susie  did  to  Viv- 
ian. 

Her  discourse  was  first,  last  and  always 
about  Jimmie  Saunders.  He  had  said  this, 
he  had  looked  that,  he  had  done  so ;  and  what 
did  Vivian  think  he  meant?  And  wasn't  he 
handsome — and  so  clever !" 

Little  Susie  cuddled  close  and  finally 
dropped  off  asleep,  her  arms  around  Vivian. 
But  the  older  girl  counted  the  hours;  her 
head,  or  her  heart,  in  a  whirl. 

Morton  Elder  was  wakeful,  too.  So  much 
so  that  he  arose  with  a  whispered  expletive, 
took  his  shoes  in  his  hand,  and  let  himself 
softly  out  for  a  tramp  in  the  open. 


186  THE  CRUX 

This  was  not  the  first  of  his  love  affairs, 
but  with  all  his  hot  young  heart  he  wished  it 
was.  He  stood  still,  alone  on  the  high 
stretches  of  moonlit  mesa  and  looked  up  at 
the  measureless,  brilliant  spaces  above  him. 

"I'll  keep  straight — if  I  can  have  her!"  he 
repeated  under  his  breath.  "I  will!  I  will!" 

It  had  never  occurred  to  him  before  to  be 
ashamed  of  the  various  escapades  of  his 
youth.  He  had  done  no  more  than  others, 
many  others.  None  of  "the  boys"  he  asso- 
ciated with  intended  to  do  what  was  wrong; 
they  were  quite  harsh  in  judgment  of  those 
who  did,  according  to  their  standards.  None 
of  them  had  been  made  acquainted  with  the 
social  or  pathological  results  of  their  amuse- 
ments, and  the  mere  "Zutritt  ist  Verboten" 
had  never  impressed  them  at  all. 

But  now  the  gentler  influences  of  his  child- 
hood, even  the  narrow  morality  of  Bainville, 
rose  in  pleasant  colors  in  his  mind.  He 
wished  he  had  saved  his  money,  instead  of 
spending  it  faster  than  it  came  in.  He 
wished  he  had  kept  out  of  poker  and  solo  and 
barrooms  generally.  He  wished,  in  a  dumb, 
shamed  way,  that  he  could  come  to  her  as 


A  MIXTURE  187 

clean  as  she  was.  But  he  threw  his  shoulders 
back  and  lifted  his  head  determinedly. 

"I'll  be  good  to  her,"  he  determined;  "I'll 
make  her  a  good  husband." 

In  the  days  that  followed  his  devotion  was 
as  constant  as  before,  but  more  intelligent. 
His  whole  manner  changed  and  softened. 
He  began  to  read  the  books  she  liked,  and 
to  talk  about  them.  He  was  gentler  to 
everyone,  more  polite,  even  to  the  waitresses, 
tender  and  thoughtful  of  his  aunt  and  sister. 
Vivian  began  to  feel  a  pride  in  him,  and  in 
her  influence,  deepening  as  time  passed. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew,  visiting  the  library  on  one 
of  her  frequent  errands,  was  encountered 
there  and  devotedly  escorted  home  by  Mr. 
Skee. 

"That  is  a  most  fascinating  young  lady 
who  has  Mr.  Dykeman's  room;  don't  you 
think  so,  ma'am?"  quoth  he. 

"I  do  not,"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew.  "Young! 
She's  not  so  young  as  you  are — nothing  like 
— never  was!" 

He  threw  back  bis  head  and  laughed  his 
queer  laugh,  which  looked  so  uproarious  and 
made  so  little  noise. 


188  THE  CRUX 

"She  certainly  is  a  charmer,  whatever  her 
age  may  be,"  he  continued. 

"Glad  you  think  so,  Mr.  Skee.  It  may  be 
time  you  lost  a  fourth!" 

"Lost  a  fourth?  What  in  the — Hespe- 
rides!" 

"If  you  can't  guess  what,  you  needn't  ask 
me !"  said  the  lady,  with  some  tartness.  "But 
for  my  own  part  I  prefer  the  Apaches.  Good 
afternoon,  Mr.  Skee." 

She  betook  herself  to  her  room  with  un- 
usual promptness,  and  refused  to  be  baited 
forth  by  any  kind  of  offered  amusement. 

"It's  right  thoughtful  of  Andy  Dykeman, 
gettin'  up  this  entertainment  for  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud,  isn't  it,  Mrs.  Elder?"  Thus  Mr. 
Skee  to  Miss  Orella  a  little  later. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  Mr.  Dykeman's  idea 
at  all,"  she  told  him.  "It's  those  boys  over 
there.  They  are  all  wild  about  her,  quite 
naturally."  She  gave  a  little  short  sigh.  "If 
Dr.  Hale  were  at  home  I  doubt  if  he  would 
encourage  it." 

"I'm  pretty  sure  he  wouldn't,  Ma'am. 
He's  certainly  down  on  the  fair  sex,  even 
such  a  peacherino  as  this  one.  But  with 


A  MIXTURE  189 

Andy,  now,  it's  different.  He  is  a  man  of 
excellent  judgment." 

"I  guess  all  men's  judgment  is  pretty 
much  alike  in  some  ways,"  said  Miss  Orella, 
oracularly.  She  seemed  busy  and  con- 
strained, and  Mr.  Skee  drifted  off  and  paid 
court  as  best  he  might  to  Dr.  Bellair. 

"Charmed  to  find  you  at  home,  Ma'am," 
he  said;  "or  shall  I  say  at  office?" 

"Call  it  what  you  like,  Mr.  Skee;  it's  been 
my  home  for  a  good  many  years  now." 

"It's  a  mighty  fine  thing  for  a  woman, 
livin'  alone,  to  have  a  business,  seems  to  me," 
remarked  the  visitor. 

"It's  a  fine  thing  for  any  woman,  married 
or  single,  to  my  mind,"  she  answered.  "I 
wish  I  could  get  Vivian  Lane  started  in  that 
kindergarten  she  talks  about." 

"There's  kids  enough,  and  goodness 
knows  they  need  a  gardener!  What's 
lackin'?  House  room?" 

"She  thinks  she's  not  really  competent. 
She  has  no  regular  certificate,  you  see.  Her 
parents  would  never  let  go  of  her  long 
enough,"  the  doctor  explained. 

"Some  parents  are  pretty  graspin',  ain't 


190  THE  CRUX 

they?  To  my  mind,  Miss  Vivian  would  be  a 
better  teacher  than  lots  of  the  ticketed  ones. 
She's  got  the  natural  love  of  children." 

"Yes,  and  she  has  studied  a  great  deal. 
She  just  needs  an  impetus." 

"Perhaps  if  she  thought  there  was  'a  call' 
she  might  be  willing.  I  doubt  if  the  families 
here  realize  what  they're  missin'.  Aint  there 
some  among  your  patients  who  could  be 
stirred  up  a  little?" 

The  doctor  thought  there  were,  and  he 
suggested  several  names  from  his  apparently 
unlimited  acquaintance. 

"I  believe  in  occupation  for  the  young.  It 
takes  up  their  minds,"  said  Mr.  Skee,  and 
departed  with  serenity.  He  strolled  over  to 
Dr.  Hale's  fence  and  leaned  upon  it,  watch- 
ing the  preparations.  Mr.  Dykeman,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  stood  about  offering  sugges- 
tions, while  the  young  men  swarmed  here  and 
there  with  poles  and  stepladders,  hanging 
Chinese  lanterns. 

"Hello,  Elmer;  come  in  and  make  your- 
self useful,"  called  Mr.  Dykeman. 

"I'll  come  in,  but  I'll  be  switched  if  I'll  be 
useful,"  he  replied,  laying  a  large  hand  on 


A  MIXTURE  191 

the  fence  and  vaulting  his  long  legs  over  it 
with  an  agility  amazing  in  one  of  his  alleged 
years.  "You  all  are  sure  putting  yourself 
out  for  this  occasion.  Is  it  somebody's  birth- 
day?" 

"No;  it's  a  get-up  of  these  youngsters. 
They  began  by  wanting  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  to 
come  over  to  tea — afternoon  tea — and  now 
look  at  this!" 

"Did  she  misunderstand  the  invitation  as 
bad  as  that?" 

"O,  no;  just  a  gradual  change  of  plan. 
One  thing  leads  to  another,  you  know.  Here, 
Archie !  That  bush  won't  hold  the  line.  Put 
it  on  the  willow." 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Skee;  "and,  as  we're 
quotin'  proverbs,  I  might  remark  that  'While 
the  cat's  away  the  mice  will  play.' ' 

Mr.  Dykeman  smiled.  "It's  rather  a  good 
joke  on  Hale,  isn't  it?" 

"Would  be  if  he  should  happen  to  come 
home — and  find  this  hen-party  on."  They 
both  chuckled. 

"I  guess  he's  good  for  a  week  yet,"  said 
Mr.  Dykeman.  "Those  medical  associations 


193  THE  CRUX 

do  a  lot  of  talking.  Higher  up  there,  George 
—a  good  deal  higher." 

He  ran  over  to  direct  the  boys,  and  Mr. 
Skee,  hands  behind  him,  strolled  up  and 
down  the  garden,  wearing  a  meditative  smile. 
He  and  Andrew  Dykeman  had  been  friends 
for  many  long  years. 

Dr.  Bellair  used  her  telephone  freely  after 
Mr.  Skee's  departure,  making  notes  and  lists 
of  names.  Late  in  the  afternoon  she  found 
Vivian  in  the  hall. 

"I  don't  see  much  of  you  these  days,  Miss 
Lane,"  she  said. 

The  girl  flushed.  Since  Mrs.  St.  Cloud's 
coming  and  their  renewed  intimacy  she  had 
rather  avoided  the  doctor,  and  that  lady  had 
kept  herself  conspicuously  out  of  the  way. 

"Don't  call  me  Miss  Lane;  I'm  Vivian — 
to  my  friends." 

"I  hope  you  count  me  a  friend?"  said  Dr. 
Bellair,  gravely. 

"I  do,  Doctor,  and  I'm  proud  to.  But  so 
many  things  have  been  happening  lately," 
she  laughed,  a  little  nervously.  "The  truth 
is,  I'm  really  ashamed  to  talk  to  you;  I'm 
so  lazy." 


A  MIXTURE  193 

"That's  exactly  what  I  wanted  to  speak 
about.  Aren't  you  ready  to  begin  that  little 
school  of  yours?" 

"I'd  like  to— I  should,  really,"  said  the 
girl.  "But,  somehow,  I  don't  know  how  to 
set  about  it." 

"I've  been  making  some  inquiries,"  said 
the  doctor.  "There  are  six  or  eight  among 
my  patients  that  you  could  count  on — about 
a  dozen  young  ones.  How  many  could  you 
handle?" 

"Oh,  I  oughtn't  to  have  more  than  twenty 
in  any  case.  A  dozen  would  be  plenty  to  be- 
gin with.  Do  you  think  I  could  count  on 
them — really?" 

"I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  her  friend  of- 
fered; "I'll  take  you  around  and  introduce 
you  to  any  of  them  you  don't  know.  Most 
of  'em  come  here  to  the  dances.  There's 
Mrs.  Horsf  ord  and  Mrs.  Blake,  and  that  lit- 
tle Mary  Jackson  with  the  twins.  You'll 
find  they  are  mostly  friends." 

"You  are  awfully  kind,"  said  the  girl.  "I 
wish" — her  voice  took  on  a  sudden  note  of 
intensity — "I  do  wish  I  were  strong,  like 
you,  Dr.  Bellair." 


194  THE  CRUX 

"I  wasn't  very  strong — at  your  age — my 
child.  I  did  the  weakest  of  weak  things — " 

Vivian  was  eager  to  ask  her  what  it  was, 
but  a  door  opened  down  one  side  passage 
and  the  doctor  quietly  disappeared  down  the 
other,  as  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  came  out. 

"I  though  I  heard  your  voice,"  she  said. 
"And  Miss  Elder's,  wasn't  it?" 

"No;  it  was  Dr.  Bellair." 

"A  strong  character,  and  a  fine  physician, 
I  understand.  I'm  sorry  she  does  not  like 


me." 


Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  smile  made  it  seem  im- 
possible that  anyone  should  dislike  her. 

Vivian  could  not,  however,  deny  the  fact, 
and  was  not  diplomatic  enough  to  smooth  it 
over,  which  her  more  experienced  friend  pro- 
ceeded to  do. 

"It  is  temperamental,"  she  said  gently. 
"If  we  had  gone  to  school  together  we  would 
not  have  been  friends.  She  is  strong,  down- 
right, progressive;  I  am  weaker,  more  sen- 
sitive, better  able  to  bear  than  to  do.  You 
must  find  her  so  stimulating." 

"Yes,"  the  girl  said.  "She  was  talking  to 
me  about  my  school." 


A  MIXTURE  195 

"Your  school?" 

"Didn't  you  know  I  meant  to  have  a  sort 
of  kindergarten?  We  planned  it  even  be- 
fore starting;  but  Miss  Elder  seemed  to  need 
me  at  first,  and  since  then — things — have 
happened " 

"And  other  things  will  happen,  dear  child! 
Quite  other  and  different  things." 

The  lady's  smile  was  bewitching.  Vivian 
flushed  slowly  under  her  gaze. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I  watched  you  dancing  to- 
gether! You  don't  mind  my  noticing,  do 
you?" 

Her  voice  was  suddenly  tender  and  re- 
spectful. "I  do  not  wish  to  intrude,  but  you 
are  very  dear  to  me.  Come  into  my  room — • 
do — and  tell  me  what  to  wear  to-night." 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  clothes  had  always  been 
a  delight  to  Vivian.  They  were  what  she 
would  have  liked  to  wear — and  never  quite 
have  dared,  under  the  New  England  fear  of 
being  "too  dressy."  Her  own  beauty  was 
kept  trimly  neat,  like  a  closed  gentian. 

Her  friend  was  in  the  gayest  mood.  She 
showed  her  a  trunkful  of  delicate  garments 
and  gave  her  a  glittering  embroidered  scarf, 


196  THE  CRUX 

which  the  girl  rapturously  admired,  but  de- 
clared she  would  never  have  the  courage  to 
wear. 

"You  shall  wear  it  this  very  night,"  de- 
clared the  lady.  "Here — show  me  what 
you've  got.  You  shall  be  as  lovely  as  you 
are,  for  once !" 

So  Vivian  brought  out  her  modest  ward- 
robe, and  the  older  woman  chose  a  gown  of 
white,  insisted  on  shortening  the  sleeves  to 
fairy  wings  of  lace,  draped  the  scarf  about 
her  white  neck,  raised  the  soft,  close-bound 
hair  to  a  regal  crown,  and  put  a  shining  star 
in  it,  and  added  a  string  of  pearls  on  the 
white  throat. 

"Look  at  yourself  now,  child!"  she  said. 

Vivian  looked,  in  the  long  depths  of  Mr. 
Dykeman's  mirror.  She  knew  that  she  had 
beauty,  but  had  never  seen  herself  so  bril- 
liantly attired.  Erect,  slender,  graceful,  the 
long  lines  of  her  young  body  draped  in  soft 
white,  and  her  dark  head,  crowned  and  shin- 
ing, poised  on  its  white  column,  rising  from 
the  shimmering  lace.  Her  color  deepened  as 
she  looked,  and  added  to  the  picture. 

"You  shall  wear  it  to-night!    You  shall!" 


A  MIXTURE  197 

cried  her  admiring  friend.  "To  please  me — 
if  no  one  else!" 

Whether  to  please  her  or  someone  else, 
Vivian  consented,  the  two  arriving  rather 
late  at  the  garden  party  across  the  way. 

Mr.  Dykeman,  looking  very  tall  and  fine 
in  his  evening  clothes,  was  a  cordial  host, 
ably  seconded  by  the  eager  boys  about  him. 

The  place  was  certainly  a  credit  to  their 
efforts,  the  bare  rooms  being  turned  to  bow- 
ers by  vines  and  branches  brought  from  the 
mountains,  and  made  fragrant  by  piled 
flowers.  Lights  glimmered  through  colored 
shades  among  the  leaves,  and  on  the  dining 
table  young  Peters,  who  came  from  Con- 
necticut, had  rigged  a  fountain  by  means  of 
some  rubber  tubing  and  an  auger  hole  in  the 
floor.  This  he  had  made  before  Mr.  Dyke- 
man caught  him,  and  vowed  Dr.  Hale  would 
not  mind.  Mr.  Peters'  enjoyment  of  the 
evening,  however,  was  a  litle  dampened  by 
his  knowledge  of  the  precarious  nature  of 
this  arrangement.  He  danced  attendance 
on  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,  with  the  others,  but  wore 
a  preoccupied  expression,  and  stole  in  once 
or  twice  from  the  lit  paths  outside  to  make 


198  THE  CRUX 

sure  that  all  was  running  well.  It  was  well 
to  and  during  supper  time,  and  the  young 
man  was  complimented  on  his  ingenuity. 

"Reminds  me  of  the  Hanging  Gardens  of 
Babylon,"  said  Mr.  Skee,  sentimentally. 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 

"Oh,  why,  Ma'am?  How  can  a  fellow 
say  why?"  he  protested.  "Because  it  is  so — 
so  efflorescent,  I  suppose." 

"Reminds  me  of  a  loose  faucet,"  said  she, 
sotto  voce,,  to  Dr.  Bellair. 

Mr.  Peters  beamed  triumphantly,  but  in 
the  very  hour  of  his  glory  young  Burns, 
hastening  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  for  his  fair 
one,  tripped  over  the  concealed  pipe,  and  the 
fountain  poured  forth  its  contributions 
among  the  feet  of  the  guests. 

This  was  a  minor  misadventure,  however, 
hurting  no  one's  feeling  but  Mr.  Peters',  and 
Mrs.  St.  Cloud  was  so  kind  to  him  in  conse- 
quence that  he  was  envied  by  all  the  others. 

Mr.  Dykeman  was  attentive  to  his  guests, 
old  and  young,  but  Mrs.  Pettigrew  had  not 
her  usual  smile  for  him ;  Miss  Orella  declined 
to  dance,  alleging  that  she  was  too  tired,  and 
Dr.  Bellair  somewhat  dryly  told  him  that  he 


A  MIXTURE  199 

need  not  bother  with  her.  He  was  hardly  to 
be  blamed  if  he  turned  repeatedly  to  Mrs. 
St.  Cloud,  whose  tactful  sweetness  was  al- 
ways ready.  She  had  her  swarm  of  young 
admirers  about  her,  yet  never  failed  to  find 
a  place  for  her  host,  a  smile  and  a  word  of 
understanding. 

Her  eyes  were  everywhere.  She  watched 
Mr.  Skee  waltzing  with  the  youngest,  pro- 
viding well-chosen  refreshments  for  Miss 
Orella,  gallantly  escorting  Grandma  to  see 
the  "Lovers'  Lane"  they  had  made  at  the 
end  of  the  garden.  Its  twin  lines  of  lights 
were  all  outside ;  within  was  grateful  shadow. 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud  paced  through  this  frag- 
rant arbor  with  each  and  every  one  of  the 
receiving  party,  uttering  ever-fresh  expres- 
sions of  admiration  and  gratitude  for  their 
kind  thoughtf  ulness,  especially  to  Mr.  Dyke- 
man. 

When  she  saw  Susie  and  Mr.  Saunders 
go  in  at  the  farther  end,  she  constituted  her- 
self a  sort  of  protective  agency  to  keep  every 
one  else  out,  holding  them  in  play  with  vari- 
ous pleasant  arts. 

And  Vivian?    When  she  arrived  there  was 


200  THE  CRUX 

a  little  gasp  from  Morton,  who  was  waiting 
for  her  near  the  door.  She  was  indeed  a 
sight  to  make  a  lover's  heart  leap.  He  had 
then,  as  it  were,  surrounded  her.  Vainly  did 
the  others  ask  for  dances.  Morton  had  un- 
blushingly  filled  out  a  card  with  his  own 
name  and  substituted  it  for  the  one  she 
handed  him.  She  protested,  but  the  music 
sounded  and  he  whirled  her  away  before  she 
could  expostulate  to  any  avail. 

His  eyes  spoke  his  admiration,  and  for 
once  his  tongue  did  not  spoil  the  impression. 

Half  laughing  and  half  serious,  she  let 
him  monopolize  her,  but  quite  drove  him 
away  when  Mr.  Dykeman  claimed  his  dance. 

"All  filled  up !"  said  Morton  for  her,  show- 
ing his  card. 

"Mine  was  promised  yesterday,  was  it  not, 
Miss  Lane?"  said  the  big  man,  smiling.  And 
she  went  with  him.  He  took  her  about  the 
garden  later,  gravely  admiring  and  atten- 
tive, and  when  Susie  fairly  rushed  into  her 
arms,  begging  her  to  come  and  talk  with  her, 
he  left  them  both  in  a  small  rose-crowned 
summer-house  and  went  back  to  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud. 


A  MIXTURE  201 

"Oh,  Vivian,  Vivian!  What  do  you 
think!"  Susie's  face  was  buried  on  Vivian's 
shoulder.  "I'm  engaged !" 

Vivian  held  her  close  and  kissed  her  soft 
hair.  Her  joyous  excitement  was  contagious. 

"He's  the  nicest  man  in  the  world!" 
breathed  Susie,  "and  he  loves  me!" 

"We  all  supposed  he  did.  Didn't  you 
know  it  before?" 

"Oh,  yes,  in  a  way;  but,  Vivian — he  kissed 
me!" 

"Well,  child,  have  you  never  in  all  your 
little  life  been  kissed  before?" 

Susie  lifted  a  rosy,  tearful  face  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Never,  never,  never!"  she  said.  "I 
thought  I  had,  but  I  haven't!"  Oh,  I  am  so 
happy!" 

"What's  up?"  inquired  Morton,  appear- 
ing with  a  pink  lantern  in  his  hand,  in  im- 
patient search  for  his  adored  one.  "Susie — 
crying?" 

"No,  I'm  not"  she  said,  and  ran  forth- 
with back  to  the  house,  whence  Jimmy  was 
bringing  her  ice  cream. 

Vivian  started  to  follow  her. 


202  THE  CRUX 

"Oh,  no,  Vivian;  don't  go.  Wait."  He 
dropped  the  lantern  and  took  her  hands.  The 
paper  cover  flared  up,  showing  her  flushed 
cheeks  and  starry  eyes.  He  stamped  out 
the  flame,  and  in  the  sudden  darkness  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

For  a  moment  she  allowed  him,  turning 
her  head  away.  He  kissed  her  white  shoul- 
der. 

"No!  No,  Morton— don't!  You  mustn't!" 

She  tried  to  withdraw  herself,  but  he  held 
her  fast.  She  could  feel  the  pounding  of 
his  heart. 

"Oh,  Vivian,  don't  say  no!  You  will  mar- 
ry me,  won't  you?  Some  day,  when  I'm 
more  worth  while.  Say  you  will!  Some 
day — if  not  now.  I  love  you  so;  I  need  you 
so!  Say  yes,  Vivian." 

He  was  breathing  heavily.  His  arms  held 
her  motionless.  She  still  kept  her  face 
turned  from  him. 

"Let  me  go,  Morton;  let  me  go!  You 
hurt  me!" 

"Say  yes,  dear,  and  I'll  let  you  go — for 
a  little  while." 

"Yes,"  said  Vivian. 


A  MIXTURE  203 

The  ground  jarred  beside  them,  as  a  tall 
man  jumped  the  hedge  boundary.  He  stood 
a  moment,  staring. 

"Well,  is  this  my  house,  or  Coney  Is- 
land?" they  heard  him  say.  And  then  Mor- 
ton swore  softly  to  himself  as  Vivian  left 
him  and  came  out. 

"Good  evening,  Dr.  Hale,"  she  said,  a 
little  breathlessly.  "We  weren't  expecting 
you  so  soon." 

"I  should  judge  not,"  he  answered. 
"What's  up,  anyhow?" 

"The  boys — and  Mr.  Dykeman — are  giv- 
ing a  garden  party  for  Mrs.  St.  Cloud." 

"For  whom?" 

"For  Adela  St.  Cloud.  She  is  visiting  us. 
Aren't  you  coming  in?" 

"Not  now,"  he  said,  and  was  gone  with- 
out another  word. 


204  THE  CRUX 

CHAPTER  IX. 

CONSEQUENCES. 

You  may  have  a  fondness  for  grapes  that  are  green, 
And  the  sourness  that  greenness  beneath; 

You  may  have  a  right 

To  a  colic  at  night — 
But  consider  your  children's  teeth! 

DR.  HALE  retired  from  his  gaily 
illuminated  grounds  in  too  much 
displeasure  to  consider  the  ques- 
tion   of    dignity.      One    suddenly    acting 
cause  was  the  news  given  him  by  Vivian. 
The  other  was  the  sight  of  Morton  Elder's 
face   as   he   struck    a   match  to   light   his 
cigarette. 

Thus  moved,  and  having  entered  and  left 
his  own  grounds  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  he 
proceeded  to  tramp  in  the  high-lying  out- 
skirts of  the  town  until  every  light  in  his 
house  had  gone  out.  Then  he  returned,  let 
himself  into  his  office,  and  lay  there  on  a 
lounge  until  morning. 


CONSEQUENCES  205 

Vivian  had  come  out  so  quickly  to  greet 
the  doctor  from  obscure  motives.  She  felt 
a  sudden  deep  objection  to  being  found 
there  with  Morton,  a  wish  to  appear  as  one 
walking  about  unconcernedly,  and  when 
that  match  glow  made  Morton's  face  shine 
out  prominently  in  the  dark  shelter,  she,  too, 
felt  a  sudden  displeasure. 

Without  a  word  she  went  swiftly  to  the 
house,  excused  herself  to  her  Grandmother, 
who  nodded  understandingly,  and  returned 
to  The  Cottonwoods,  to  her  room.  She  felt 
that  she  must  be  alone  and  think;  think  of 
that  irrevocable  word  she  had  uttered,  and 
its  consequences. 

She  sat  at  her  window,  rather  breathless, 
watching  the  rows  of  pink  lanterns  swaying 
softly  on  the  other  side  of  the  street;  hear- 
ing the  lively  music,  seeing  young  couples 
leave  the  gate  and  stroll  off  homeward. 

Susie's  happiness  came  more  vividly  to 
mind  than  her  own.  It  was  so  freshly  joy- 
ous, so  pure,  so  perfectly  at  rest.  She  could 
not  feel  that  way,  could  not  tell  with  de- 
cision exactly  how  she  did  feel.  But  if  this 
was  happiness,  it  was  not  as  she  had  imag- 


206  THE  CRUX 

ined  it.  She  thought  of  that  moonlit  sum- 
mer night  so  long  ago,  and  the  memory  of 
its  warm  wonder  seemed  sweeter  than  the 
hasty  tumult  and  compulsion  of  to-night. 

She  was  stirred  through  and  through  by 
Morton's  intense  emotion,  but  with  a  sort  of 
reaction,  a  wish  to  escape.  He  had  been  so 
madly  anxious,  he  had  held  her  so  close; 
there  seemed  no  other  way  but  to  yield  to 
him — in  order  to  get  away. 

And  then  Dr.  Hale  had  jarred  the  whole 
situation.  She  had  to  be  polite  to  him,  in 
his  own  grounds.  If  only  Morton  had  kept 
still — that  grating  match — his  face,  bent  and 
puffing,  Dr.  Hale  must  have  seen  him.  And 
again  she  thought  of  little  Susie  with  almost 
envy.  Even  after  that  young  lady  had 
come  in,  bubbled  over  with  confidences  and 
raptures,  and  finally  dropped  to  sleep  with- 
out Vivian's  having  been  able  to  bring  her- 
self to  return  the  confidences,  she  stole  back 
to  her  window  again  to  breathe. 

Why  had  Dr.  Hale  started  so  at  the  name 
of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud?  That  was  puzzling  her 
more  than  she  cared  to  admit.  By  and  by 
she  saw  his  well-known  figure,  tall  and  erect, 


CONSEQUENCES  207 

march  by  on  the  other  side  and  go  into  the 
office. 

"O,  well,"  she  sighed  at  last,  "I'm  not 
young,  like  Susie.  Perhaps  it  is  like  this — " 

Now  Morton  had  been  in  no  special  need 
of  that  cigarette  at  that  special  moment,  but 
he  did  not  wish  to  seem  to  hide  in  the  dusky 
arbor,  nor  to  emerge  lamely  as  if  he  had 
hidden.  So  he  lit  the  match,  more  from 
habit  than  anything  else.  When  it  was  out, 
and  the  cigarette  well  lighted,  he  heard  the 
doctor's  sudden  thump  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence  and  came  out  to  rejoin  Vivian. 
She  was  not  there. 

He  did  not  see  her  again  that  night,  and 
his  meditations  were  such  that  next  day 
found  him,  as  a  lover,  far  more  agreeable  to 
Vivian  than  the  night  before.  He  showed 
real  understanding,  no  triumph,  no  airs  of 
possession;  took  no  liberties,  only  said: 
"When  I  am  good  enough  I  shall  claim  you 
— my  darling!"  and  looked  at  her  with  such 
restrained  longing  that  she  quite  warmed 
to  him  again. 

He  held  to  this  attitude,  devoted, 
quietly  affectionate;  till  her  sense  of  rebel- 


208  THE  CRUX 

lion  passed  away  and  her  real  pleasure  in 
his  improvement  reasserted  itself.  As  they 
read  together,  if  now  and  then  his  arm  stole 
around  her  waist,  he  always  withdrew  it  when 
so  commanded.  Still,  one  cannot  put  the 
same  severity  into  a  prohibition  too  often  re- 
peated. The  constant,  thoughtful  attention 
of  a  man  experienced  in  the  art  of  pleasing 
women,  the  new  and  frankly  inexperienced 
efforts  he  made  to  meet  her  highest  thoughts, 
to  learn  and  share  her  preferences,  both 
pleased  her. 

He  was  certainly  good  looking,  certainly 
amusing,  certainly  had  become  a  better  man 
from  her  companionship.  She  grew  to  feel 
a  sort  of  ownership  in  this  newly  arisen  char- 
acter; a  sort  of  pride  in  it.  Then,  she  had 
always  been  fond  of  Morton,  since  the  time 
when  he  was  only  "Susie's  big  brother." 
That  counted. 

Another  thing  counted,  too,  counted  heav- 
ily, though  Vivian  never  dreamed  of  it  and 
would  have  hotly  repudiated  the  charge.  She 
was  a  woman  of  full  marriageable  age,  with 
all  the  unused  powers  of  her  woman's  nature 
calling  for  expression,  quite  unrecognized. 


CONSEQUENCES  209 

He  was  a  man  who  loved  her,  loved  her 
more  deeply  than  he  had  ever  loved  before, 
than  he  had  even  known  he  could  love;  who 
quite  recognized  what  called  within  him  and 
meant  to  meet  the  call.  And  he  was  near 
her  every  day. 

After  that  one  fierce  outbreak  he  held 
himself  well  in  check.  He  knew  he  had 
startled  her  then,  almost  lost  her.  And  with 
every  hour  of  their  companionship  he  felt 
more  and  more  how  much  she  was  to  him. 
Other  women  he  had  pursued,  overtaken, 
left  behind.  He  felt  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  Vivian  which  was  beyond  him,  giv- 
ing a  stir  and  lift  of  aspiration  which  he 
genuinely  enjoyed. 

Day  by  day  he  strove  to  win  her  full  ap- 
proval, and  day  by  day  he  did  not  neglect 
the  tiny,  slow-lapping  waves  of  little  tender- 
nesses, small  affectionate  liberties  at  well- 
chosen  moments,  always  promptly  withdraw- 
ing when  forbidden,  but  always  beginning 
again  a  little  further  on. 

Dr.  Bellair  went  to  Dr.  Hale's  office  and 
sat  herself  down  solidly  in  the  patient's 
chair. 


210  THE  CRUX 

"Dick,"  she  said,  "are  you  going  to  stand 
for  this?" 

"Stand  for  what,  my  esteemed  but  cryptic 
fellow-practitioner  ?" 

She  eyed  his  calm,  reserved  countenance 
with  friendly  admiration.  "You  are  an 
awfully  good  fellow,  Dick,  but  dull.  At  the 
same  time  dull  and  transparent.  Are  you 
going  to  sit  still  and  let  that  dangerous  pa- 
tient of  yours  marry  the  finest  girl  in  town?" 

"Your  admiration  for  girls  is  always 
stronger  than  mine,  Jane ;  and  I  have,  if  you 
will  pardon  the  boast,  more  than  one  pa- 
tient." 

"All  right,  Dick — if  you  want  it  made 
perfectly  clear  to  your  understanding.  Do 
you  mean  to  let  Morton  Elder  marry  Vivian 
Lane?" 

"What  business  is  it  of  mine?"  he  demand- 
ed, more  than  brusquely — savagely. 

"You  know  what  he's  got." 

"I  am  a  physician,  not  a  detective.  And  I 
am  not  Miss  Lane's  father,  brother,  uncle 
or  guardian." 

"Or  lover,"  added  Dr.  Bellair,  eyeing  him 
quietly.  She  thought  she  saw  a  second's 


CONSEQUENCES  211 

flicker  of  light  in  the  deep  gray  eyes,  a  pos- 
sible tightening  of  set  lips.  "Suppose  you 
are  not,"  she  said;  "  nor  even  a  humanitar- 
ian. You  are  a  member  of  society.  Do  you 
mean  to  let  a  man  whom  you  know  has  no 
right  to  marry,  poison  the  life  of  that  splen- 
did girl?" 

He  was  quite  silent  for  a  moment,  but  she 
could  see  the  hand  on  the  farther  arm  of  his 
chair  grip  it  till  the  nails  were  white. 

"How  do  you  know  he — wishes  to  marry 
her?" 

"If  you  were  about  like  other  people,  you 
old  hermit,  you'd  know  it  as  well  as  any- 
body. I  think  they  are  on  the  verge  of  an 
engagement,  if  they  aren't  over  it  already. 
Once  more,  Dick,  shall  you  do  anything?" 

"No,"  said  he.  Then,  as  she  did  not  add 
a  word,  he  rose  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  office  in  big  strides,  turning  upon  her 
at  last. 

"You  kziow  how  I  feel  about  this.  It  is  a 
matter  of  honor — professional  honor.  You 
women  don't  seem  to  know  what  the  word 
means.  I've  told  that  good-for-nothing 
young  wreck  that  he  has  no  right  to  marry 


212  THE  CRUX 

for  years  yet,  if  ever.  That  is  all  I  can  do. 
I  will  not  betray  the  confidence  of  a  patient." 

"Not  if  he  had  smallpox,  or  scarlet  fever, 
or  the  bubonic  plague?  Suppose  a  patient 
of  yours  had  the  leprosy,  and  wanted  to 
marry  your  sister,  would  you  betray  his  con- 
fidence?" 

"I  might  kill  my  sister,"  he  said,  glaring 
at  her.  "I  refuse  to  argue  with  you." 

"Yes,  I  think  you'd  better  refuse,"  she 
said,  rising.  "And  you  don't  have  to  kill 
Vivian  Lane,  either.  A  man's  honor  always 
seems  to  want  to  kill  a  woman  to  satisfy  it. 
I'm  glad  I  haven't  got  the  feeling.  Well, 
Dick,  I  thought  I'd  give  you  a  chance  to 
come  to  your  senses,  a  real  good  chance. 
But  I  won't  leave  you  to  the  pangs  of  un- 
availing remorse,  you  poor  old  goose.  That 
young  syphilitic  is  no  patient  of  mine."  And 
she  marched  off  to  perform  a  difficult  duty. 

She  was  very  fond  of  Vivian.  The  girl's 
unselfish  sweetness  of  character  and  the 
depth  of  courage  and  power  she  perceived 
behind  the  sensitive,  almost  timid  exterior, 
appealed  to  her.  If  she  had  had  a  daughter, 
perhaps  she  would  have  been  like  that.  If 


CONSEQUENCES  213 

she  had  had  a  daughter  would  she  not  have 
thanked  anyone  who  would  try  to  save  her 
from  such  a  danger?  From  that  worse  than 
deadly  peril,  because  of  which  she  had  no 
daughter. 

Dr.  Bellair  was  not  the  only  one  who 
watched  Morton's  growing  devotion  with 
keen  interest.  To  his  aunt  it  was  a  constant 
joy.  From  the  time  her  boisterous  little 
nephew  had  come  to  rejoice  her  heart  and 
upset  her  immaculate  household  arrange- 
ments, and  had  played,  pleasantly  though 
tyrannically,  with  the  little  girl  next  door, 
Miss  Orella  had  dreamed  this  romance  for 
him.  To  have  it  fail  was  part  of  her  grief 
when  he  left  her,  to  have  it  now  so  visibly 
coming  to  completion  was  a  deep  delight. 

If  she  had  been  blind  to  his  faults,  she  was 
at  least  vividly  conscious  of  the  present  sud- 
den growth  of  virtues.  She  beamed  at  him 
with  affectionate  pride,  and  her  manner  to 
Mrs.  Pettigrew  was  one  of  barely  subdued 
"I  told  you  so."  Indeed,  she  could  not  re- 
strain herself  altogether,  but  spoke  to  that 
lady  with  tender  triumph  of  how  lovely  it 
was  to  have  Morton  so  gentle  and  nice. 


214  THE  CRUX 

"You  never  did  like  the  boy,  I  know,  but 
you  must  admit  that  he  is  behaving  beauti- 
fully now." 

"I  will,"  said  the  old  lady;  "I'll  admit  it 
without  reservation.  He's  behaving  beauti- 
fully— now.  But  I'm  not  going  to  talk 
about  him — to  you,  Orella."  So  she  rolled 
up  her  knitting  work  and  marched  off. 

4 'Too  bad  she's  so  prejudiced  and  opinion- 
ated," said  Miss  Elder  to  Susie,  rather 
warmly.  "I'm  real  fond  of  Mrs.  Pettigrew, 
but  when  she  takes  a  dislike " 

Susie  was  so  happy  herself  that  she  seemed 
to  walk  in  an  aura  of  rosy  light.  Her  Jim- 
mie  was  so  evidently  the  incarnation  of 
every  masculine  virtue  and  charm  that  he 
lent  a  reflected  lustre  to  other  men,  even  to 
her  brother.  Because  of  her  love  for  Jim- 
mie,  she  loved  Morton  better — loved  every- 
body better.  To  have  her  only  brother 
marry  her  dearest  friend  was  wholly  pleas- 
ant to  Susie. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  wring  from  Vivian 
a  fair  knowledge  of  how  things  stood,  for, 
though  reserved  by  nature,  she  was  utterly 
unused  to  concealing  anything,  and  could 


CONSEQUENCES  215 

not  tell  an  efficient  lie  if  she  wanted  to. 

"Are  you  engaged  or  are  you  not,  you 
dear  old  thing?"  demanded  Susie. 

And  Vivian  admitted  that  there  was  "an 
understanding."  But  Susie  absolutely  must 
not  speak  of  it. 

For  a  wonder  she  did  not,  except  to  Jim- 
mie.  But  people  seemed  to  make  up  their 
minds  on  the  subject  with  miraculous  agree- 
ment. The  general  interest  in  the  manifold 
successes  of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  gave  way  to  this 
vivid  personal  interest,  and  it  was  discussed 
from  two  sides  among  their  whole  circle  of 
acquaintance. 

One  side  thought  that  a  splendid  girl  was 
being  wasted,  sacrificed,  thrown  away,  on  a 
disagreeable,  good-for-nothing  fellow.  The 
other  side  thought  the  "interesting"  Mr.  El- 
der might  have  done  better;  they  did  not 
know  what  he  could  see  in  her. 

They,  that  vaguely  important  They,  be- 
fore whom  we  so  deeply  bow,  were  also 
much  occupied  in  their  mind  by  speculations 
concerning  Mr.  Dykeman  and  two  Possi- 
bilities. One  quite  patently  possible,  even 
probable,  giving  rise  to  the  complacent 


216  THE  CRUX 

"Why,  anybody  could  see  that!"  and  the 
other  a  fascinatingly  impossible  Possibility 
of  a  sort  which  allows  the  even  more  com- 
placent "Didn't  you?  Why,  I  could  see  it 
from  the  first." 

Mr.  Dykeman  had  been  a  leading  citizen 
in  that  new-built  town  for  some  ten  years, 
which  constituted  him  almost  the  Oldest  In- 
habitant. He  was  reputed  to  be  extremely 
wealthy,  though  he  never  said  anything 
about  it,  and  neither  his  clothing  nor  his 
cigars  reeked  of  affluence.  Perhaps  nomadic 
chambermaids  had  spread  knowledge  of 
those  silver-backed  appurtenances,  and  the 
long  mirror.  Or  perhaps  it  was  not  wo- 
man's gossip  at  all,  but  men's  gossip, 
which  has  wider  base,  and  wider  circula- 
tion, too. 

Mr.  Dykeman  had  certainly  "paid  atten- 
tions" to  Miss  Elder.  Miss  Elder  had  un- 
deniably brightened  and  blossomed  most  be- 
comingly under  these  attentions.  He  had 
danced  with  her,  he  had  driven  with  her,  he 
had  played  piquet  with  her  when  he  might 
have  played  whist.  To  be  sure,  he  did  these 
things  with  other  ladies,  and  had  done  them 


CONSEQUENCES 

for  years  past,  but  this  really  looked  as  if 
there  might  be  something  in  it. 

Mr.  Skee,  as  Mr.  Dykeman's  oldest 
friend,  was  even  questioned  a  little;  but  it 
was  not  very  much  use  to  question  Mr.  Skee. 
His  manner  was  not  repellant,  and  not  in  the 
least  reserved.  He  poured  forth  floods  of 
information  so  voluminous  and  so  varied 
that  the  recipient  was  rather  drowned  than 
fed.  So  opinions  wavered  as  to  Mr.  Dyke- 
man's intentions. 

Then  came  this  lady  of  irresistible  charm, 
and  the  unmarried  citizens  of  the  place  fell 
at  her  feet  as  one  man.  Even  the  married 
ones  slanted  over  a  little. 

Mr.  Dykeman  danced  with  her,  more  than 
he  had  with  Miss  Elder.  Mr.  Dykeman 
drove  with  her,  more  than  he  had  with  Miss 
Elder.  Mr.  Dykeman  played  piquet  with 
her,  and  chess,  which  Miss  Elder  could  not 
play.  And  Miss  Elder's  little  opening  petals 
of  ribbon  and  lace  curled  up  and  withered 
away;  while  Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  silken  efflor- 
escence, softly  waving  and  jewel-starred, 
flourished  apace. 

Dr.  Bellair  had  asked  Vivian  to  take  a 


218  THE  CRUX 

walk  with  her;  and  they  sat  together,  rest- 
ing, on  a  high  lonely  hill,  a  few  miles  out  of 
town. 

"It's  a  great  pleasure  to  see  this  much  of 
you,  Dr.  Bellair,"  said  the  girl,  feeling  really 
complimented. 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  think  so,  my  dear, 
when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say:  what  I 
have  to  say." 

The  girl  flushed  a  little.  "Are  you  going 
to  scold  me  about  something?  Have  I  done 
anything  wrong?"  Her  eyes  smiled  bravely. 
"Go  on,  Doctor.  I  know  it  will  be  for  my 
best  good." 

"It  will  indeed,  dear  child,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, so  earnestly  that  Vivian  felt  a  chill  of 
apprehension. 

"I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  'as  man  to 
man'  as  the  story  books  say;  as  woman  to 
woman.  When  I  was  your  age  I  had  been 
married  three  years." 

Vivian  was  silent,  but  stole  out  a  soft  sym- 
pathetic hand  and  slipped  it  into  the  older 
woman's.  She  had  heard  of  this  early-made 
marriage,  also  early  broken;  with  various 


CONSEQUENCES  219 

dark  comments  to  which  she  had  paid  no  at- 
tention. 

Dr.  Bellair  was  Dr.  Bellair,  and  she  had 
a  reverential  affection  for  her. 

There  was  a  little  silence.  The  Doctor 
evidently  found  it  hard  to  begin.  "You  love 
children,  don't  you,  Vivian?" 

The  girl's  eyes  kindled,  and  a  heavenly 
smile  broke  over  her  face.  "Better  than 
anything  in  the  world,"  she  said. 

"Ever  think  about  them?"  asked  her 
friend,  her  own  face  whitening  as  she  spoke. 
"Think  about  their  lovely  little  soft  help- 
lessness— when  you  hold  them  in  your  arms 
and  have  to  do  everything  for  them.  Have 
to  go  and  turn  them  over — see  that  the  little 
ear  isn't  crumpled — that  the  covers  are  all 
right.  Can't  you  see  'em,  upside  down  on 
the  bath  apron,  grabbing  at  things,  perfectly 
happy,  but  prepared  to  howl  when  it  comes 
to  dressing?  And  when  they  are  big  enough 
to  love  you!  Little  soft  arms  that  will 
hardly  go  round  your  neck.  Little  soft 
cheeks  against  yours,  little  soft  mouths  and 
little  soft  kisses, — ever  think  of  them?" 

The  girl's  eyes  were  like  stars.    She  was 


220  THE  CRUX 

looking  into  the  future;  her  breath  came 
quickly;  she  sat  quite  still. 

The  doctor  swallowed  hard,  and  went  on. 
"We  mostly  don't  go  much  farther  than 
that  at  first.  It's  just  the  babies  we  want. 
But  you  can  look  farther — can  follow  up, 
year  by  year,  the  lovely  changing  growing 
bodies  and  minds,  the  confidence  and  love 
between  you,  the  pride  you  have  as  health 
is  established,  strength  and  skill  developed, 
and  character  unfolds  and  deepens. 

"Then  when  they  are  grown,  and  sort  of 
catch  up,  and  you  have  those  splendid  young 
lives  about  you,  intimate  strong  friends  and 
tender  lovers.  And  you  feel  as  though 
you  had  indeed  done  something  for  the 
world." 

She  stopped,  saying  no  more  for  a  little, 
watching  the  girl's  awed  shining  face.  Sud- 
denly that  face  was  turned  to  her,  full  of  ex- 
quisite sympathy,  the  dark  eyes  swimming 
with  sudden  tears;  and  two  soft  eager  arms 
held  her  close. 

"Oh,  Doctor!  To  care  like  that  and 
not—!" 

"Yes,  my  dear;"  said  the  doctor,  quietly. 


CONSEQUENCES  221 

"And  not  have  any.  Not  be  able  to  have 
any — ever." 

Vivian  caught  her  breath  with  pitying  in- 
tensity, but  her  friend  went  on. 

"Never  be  able  to  have  a  child,  because  I 
married  a  man  who  had  gonorrhea.  In  place 
of  happy  love,  lonely  pain.  In  place  of 
motherhood,  disease.  Misery  and  shame, 
child.  Medicine  and  surgery,  and  never 
any  possibility  of  any  child  for  me." 

The  girl  was  pale  with  horror.  "I — 
I  didn't  know — "  She  tried  to  say  some- 
thing, but  the  doctor  burst  out  impa- 
tiently : 

"No!  You  don't  know.  I  didn't  know. 
Girls  aren't  taught  a  word  of  what's  before 
them  till  it's  too  late — not  then,  sometimes! 
Women  lose  every  joy  in  life,  every  hope, 
every  capacity  for  service  or  pleasure.  They 
go  down  to  their  graves  without  anyone's 
telling  them  the  cause  of  it  all." 

"That  was  why  you — left  him?"  asked 
Vivian  presently. 

"Yes,  I  left  him.  When  I  found  I  could 
not  be  a  mother  I  determined  to  be  a  doctor, 
and  save  other  women,  if  I  could."  She  said 


THE  CRUX 

this  with  such  slow,  grave  emphasis  that  Viv- 
ian turned  a  sudden  startled  face  to  her, 
and  went  white  to  the  lips. 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  the  doctor  said,  "you 
have  not  given  me  your  confidence  in  this 
matter.  But  it  is  better,  a  thousand  times 
better,  that  I  should  make  this  mistake  than 
for  you  to  make  that.  You  must  not  marry 
Morton  Elder." 

Vivian  did  not  admit  nor  deny.  She  still 
wore  that  look  of  horror. 

"You  think  he  has— That?" 

"I  do  not  know  whether  he  has  gonorrhea 
or  not;  it  takes  a  long  microscopic  analysis 
to  be  sure;  but  there  is  every  practical  as- 
surance that  he's  had  it,  and  I  know  he's 
had  syphilis." 

If  Vivian  could  have  turned  paler  she 
would  have,  then. 

"I've  heard  of — that,"  she  said,  shudder- 
ing. 

"Yes,  the  other  is  newer  to  our  knowledge, 
far  commoner,  and  really  more  dangerous. 
They  are  two  of  the  most  terrible  diseases 
known  to  us;  highly  contagious,  and  in  the 
case  of  syphilis,  hereditary.  Nearly  three- 


CONSEQUENCES  223 

quarters  of  the  men  have  one  or  the  other, 
or  both." 

But  Vivian  was  not  listening.  Her  face 
was  buried  in  her  hands.  She  crouched  low 
in  agonized  weeping. 

"Oh,  come,  come,  my  dear.  Don't  take 
it  so  hard.  There's  no  harm  done  you  see, 
it's  not  too  late." 

"Oh,  it  is  too  late !  It  is !"  wailed  the  girl. 
"I  have  promised  to  marry  him." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  were  at  the  altar,  child; 
you  haven't  married  him,  and  you  mustn't." 

"I  have  given  my  word!"  said  the  girl 
dully.  She  was  thinking  of  Morton  now. 
Of  his  handsome  face,  with  it's  new  expres- 
sion of  respectful  tenderness;  of  all  the 
hopes  they  had  built  together;  of  his  life, 
so  dependent  upon  hers  for  its  higher  in- 
terests. 

She  turned  to  the  doctor,  her  lips  quiver- 
ing. "He  loves  me !"  she  said.  "I — we — he 
says  I  am  all  that  holds  him  up,  that  helps 
him  to  make  a  newer  better  life.  And  he  has 
changed  so — I  can  see  it!  He  says  he  has 
loved  me,  really,  since  he  was  seventeen!" 

The  older  sterner  face  did  not  relax. 


224:  THE  CRUX 

"He  told  me  he  had — done  wrong.  He 
was  honest  about  it.  He  said  he  wasn't — 
worthy." 

"He  isn't,"  said  Dr.  Bellair. 

"But  surely  I  owe  some  duty  to  him.  He 
depends  on  me.  And  I  have  promised — " 

The  doctor  grew  grimmer.  "Marriage  is 
for  motherhood,"  she  said.  "That  is  its  in- 
itial purpose.  I  suppose  you  might  deliber- 
ately forego  motherhood,  and  undertake  a 
sort  of  missionary  relation  to  a  man,  but 
that  is  not  marriage." 

"He  loves  me,"  said  the  girl  with  gentle 
stubbornness.  She  saw  Morton's  eyes,  as 
she  had  so  often  seen  them  lately;  full  of 
adoration  and  manly  patience.  She  felt  his 
hand,  as  she  had  felt  it  so  often  lately,  hold- 
ing hers,  stealing  about  her  waist,  sometimes 
bringing  her  fingers  to  his  lips  for  a  strong 
slow  kiss  which  she  could  not  forget  for 
hours. 

She  raised  her  head.  A  new  wave  of  feel- 
ing swept  over  her.  She  saw  a  vista  of  self- 
sacrificing  devotion,  foregoing  much,  for- 
giving much,  but  rejoicing  in  the  companion- 
ship of  a  noble  life,  a  soul  rebuilt,  a  love  that 


CONSEQUENCES  225 

was  passionately  grateful.  Her  eyes  met 
those  of  her  friend  fairly.  "And  I  love 
him!"  she  said. 

"Will  you  tell  that  to  your  crippled  child- 
ren?" asked  Dr.  Bellair.  "Will  they  under- 
stand it  if  they  are  idiots?  Will  they  see  it 
if  they  are  blind?  Will  it  satisfy  you  when 
they  are  dead?" 

The  girl  shrank  before  her. 

"You  shall  understand,"  said  the  doctor. 
This  is  no  case  for  idealism  and  exalted 
emotion.  Do  you  want  a  son  like  Theophile?" 

"I  thought  you  said — they  didn't  have 
any." 

"Some  don't — that  is  one  result.  Another 
result — of  gonorrhea — is  to  have  children 
born  blind.  Their  eyes  may  be  saved,  with 
care.  But  it  is  not  a  motherly  gift  for  one's 
babies — blindness.  You  may  have  years  and 
years  of  suffering  yourself — any  or  all  of 
those  diseases  'peculiar  to  women'  as  we  used 
to  call  them!  And  we  pitied  the  men  who 
'were  so  good  to  their  invalid  wives'!  You 
may  have  any  number  of  still-born  children, 
year  after  year.  And  every  little  marred 
dead  face  would  remind  you  that  you  allowed 


226  THE  CRUX 

it!  And  they  may  be  deformed  and  twisted, 
have  all  manner  of  terrible  and  loathsome 
afflictions,  they  and  their  children  after  them, 
if  they  have  any.  And  many  do!  dear  girl, 
don't  you  see  that's  wicked?" 

Vivian  was  silent,  her  two  hands  wrung 
together;  her  whole  form  shivering  with 
emotion. 

"Don't  think  that  you  are  'ruining  his 
life/  "  said  the  doctor  kindly.  "He  ruined 
it  long  ago — poor  boy!" 

The  girl  turned  quickly  at  the  note  of 
sympathy. 

"They  don't  know  either,"  her  friend  went 
on.  "What  could  Miss  Orella  do,  poor  little 
saint,  to  protect  a  lively  young  fellow  like 
that !  All  they  have  in  their  scatter-brained 
heads  is  'it's  naughty  but  it's  nice!'  And 
so  they  rush  off  and  ruin  their  whole  lives — 
and  their  wives' — and  their  children's.  A 
man  don't  have  to  be  so  very  wicked,  either, 
understand.  Just  one  mis-step  may  be 
enough  for  infection." 

"Even  if  it  did  break  his  heart,  and  yours 
— even  if  you  both  lived  single,  he  because  it 
is  the  only  decent  thing  he  can  do  now,  you 


CONSEQUENCES  227 

because  of  a  misguided  sense  of  devotion; 
that  would  be  better  than  to  commit  this 
plain  sin.  Beware  of  a  biological  sin,  my 
dear;  for  it  there  is  no  forgiveness." 

She  waited  a  moment  and  went  on,  as 
firmly  and  steadily  as  she  would  have  held 
the  walls  of  a  wound  while  she  placed  the 
stitches. 

"If  you  two  love  each  other  so  nobly  and 
devotedly  that  it  is  higher  and  truer  and 
more  lasting  than  the  ordinary  love  of  men 
and  women,  you  might  be  'true'  to  one  an- 
other for  a  lifetime,  you  see.  And  all  that 
friendship  can  do,  exalted  influence,  noble 
inspiration — that  is  open  to  you." 

Vivian's  eyes  were  wide  and  shining.  She 
saw  a  possible  future,  not  wholly  unbearable. 

"Has  he  kissed  you  yet?"  asked  the  doc- 
tor suddenly. 

"No,"  she  said.    That  is— except " 

"Don't  let  him.  You  might  catch  it. 
Your  friendship  must  be  distant.  Well, 
shall  we  be  going  back?  I'm  sorry,  my  dear. 
I  did  hate  awfully  to  do  it.  But  I  hated 
worse  to  see  you  go  down  those  awful  steps 
from  which  there  is  no  returning." 


228  THE  CRUX 

"Yes,"  said  Vivian.  "Thank  you.  Won't 
you  go  on,  please?  I'll  come  later." 

An  hour  the  girl  sat  there,  with  the  clear 
blue  sky  above  her,  the  soft  steady  wind 
rustling  the  leaves,  the  little  birds  that 
hopped  and  pecked  and  flirted  their  tails  so 
near  her  motionless  figure. 

She  thought  and  thought,  and  through  all 
the  tumult  of  ideas  it  grew  clearer  to  her 
that  the  doctor  was  right.  She  might  sacri- 
fice herself.  She  had  no  right  to  sacrifice 
her  children. 

A  feeling  of  unreasoning  horror  at  this 
sudden  outlook  into  a  field  of  unknown  evil 
was  met  by  her  clear  perception  that  if  she 
was  old  enough  to  marry,  to  be  a  mother,  she 
was  surely  old  enough  to  know  these  things ; 
and  not  only  so,  but  ought  to  know  them. 

Shy,  sensitive,  delicate  in  feeling  as  the 
girl  was,  she  had  a  fair  and  reasoning  mind. 


DETERMINATION  229 


CHAPTER  X. 


DETERMINATION. 

You  may  shut  your  eyes  with  a  bandage, 
The  while  world  vanishes  soon; 

You  may  open  your  eyes  at  a  knothole 
And  see  the  sun  and  moon. 


IT  must  have  grieved  anyone  who  cared 
for  Andrew  Dykeman,  to  see  Mrs. 
St.     Cloud's    manner    toward    him 
change  with  his  changed  circumstances — 
she  had  been  so  much  with  him,  had  been 
so  kind  to  him;  kinder  than  Carston  com- 
ment "knew  for  a  fact,"  but  not  kinder  than 
it  surmised. 

Then,  though  his  dress  remained  as  quiet- 
ly correct,  his  face  assumed  a  worn  and 
anxious  look,  and  he  no  longer  offered  her 
long  auto  rides  or  other  expensive  entertain- 
ment. She  saw  men  on  the  piazza  stop  talk- 
ing as  he  came  by,  and  shake  their  heads  as 
they  looked  after  him;  but  no  one  would  tell 


230  THE  CRUX 

her  anything  definite  till  she  questioned  Mr. 
Skee. 

,  "I  am  worried  about  Mr.  Dykeman,"  she 
said  to  this  ever-willing  confidant,  beckon- 
ing him  to  a  chair  beside  her. 

A  chair,  to  the  mind  of  Mr.  Skee,  seemed 
to  be  for  pictorial  uses,  only  valuable  as 
part  of  the  composition.  He  liked  one  to 
stand  beside,  to  put  a  foot  on,  to  lean  over 
from  behind,  arms  on  the  back;  to  tip  up  in 
front  of  him  as  if  he  needed  a  barricade; 
and  when  he  was  persuaded  to  sit  in  one, 
it  was  either  facing  the  back,  cross- 
saddle  and  bent  forward,  or — and  this  was 
the  utmost  decorum  he  was  able  to  approach 
— tipped  backward  against  the  wall. 

"He  does  not  look  well,"  said  the  lady, 
"you  are  old  friends — do  tell  me;  if  it  is 
anything  wherein  a  woman's  sympathy 
would  be  of  service?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Ma'am,"  replied  Mr. 
Skee  darkly.  "Andy's  hard  hit  in  a  worse 
place  than  his  heart.  I  wouldn't  betray  a 
friend's  confidence  for  any  money,  Ma'am; 
but  this  is  all  over  town.  It'll  go  hard  with 
Andy,  I'm  afraid,  at  his  age." 


DETERMINATION  231 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!"  she  whispered.  "So 
sorry!  But  surely  with  a  man  of  his  abili- 
ties it  will  be  only  a  temporary  reverse! — " 

"Dunno  'bout  the  abilities — not  in  this 
case.  Unless  he  has  ability  enough  to  dis- 
cover a  mine  bigger 'n  the  one  he's  lost !  You 
see,  Ma'am,  it's  this  way,"  and  he  sunk  his 
voice  to  a  confidential  rumble.  "Andy  had 
a  bang-up  mine,  galena  ore — not  gold,  you 
understand,  but  often  pays  better.  And  he 
kept  on  putting  the  money  it  made  back  into 
it  to  make  more.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  it 
petered  out!  No  more  eggs  in  that  basket. 
'Course  he  can't  sell  it — now.  And  last 
year  he  refused  half  a  million.  Andy's  sure 
down  on  his  luck." 

"But  he  will  recover!  You  western  men 
are  so  wonderful!  He  will  find  another 
mine !" 

"O  yes,  he  may!  Certainly  he  may, 
Ma'am.  Not  that  he  found  this  one — he 
just  bought  it." 

"Well — he  can  buy  another,  there  are 
more,  aren't  there?" 

"Sure  there  are!  There's  as  good  mines 
in  the  earth  as  ever  was  salted — that's  my 


232  THE  CRUX 

motto!  But  Andy's  got  no  more  money  to 
buy  any  mines.  What  he  had  before  he  in- 
herited. No,  Ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Skee,  with 
a  sigh.  "I'm  afraid  its  all  up  with  Andy 
Dykeman  financially!" 

This  he  said  more  audibly;  and  Miss  Elder 
and  Miss  Pettigrew,  sitting  in  their  parlor, 
could  not  help  hearing.  Miss  Elder  gave  a 
little  gasp  and  clasped  her  hands  tightly, 
but  Miss  Pettigrew  arose,  and  came  outside. 

"What's  this  about  Mr.  Dykeman?"  she 
questioned  abruptly.  "Has  he  had  losses?" 

"There  now,"  said  Mr.  Skee,  remorse- 
fully, "I  never  meant  to  give  him  away  like 
that.  Mrs.  Pettigrew,  Ma'am,  I  must  beg 
you  not  to  mention  it  further.  I  was  only 
satisfyin'  this  lady  here,  in  answer  to  sympa- 
thetic anxiety,  as  to  what  was  making  An- 
drew H.  Dykeman  so  down  in  the  mouth. 
Yes'm — he's  lost  every  cent  he  had  in  the 
world,  or  is  likely  to  have.  Of  course, 
among  friends,  hell  get  a  job  fast  enough, 
bookkeepin',  or  something  like  that — though 
he's  not  a  brilliant  man,  Andy  isn't.  You 
needn't  to  feel  worried,  Mrs.  Pettigrew; 
he'll  draw  a  salary  all  right,  to  the  end  of 


DETERMINATION  233 

time;  but  he's  out  of  the  game  of  Hot 
Finance." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  regarded  the  speaker  with 
a  scintillating  eye.  He  returned  her  look 
with  unflinching  seriousness.  "Have  a  chair, 
Ma'am,"  he  said.  "Let  me  bring  out  your 
rocker.  Sit  down  and  chat  with  us." 

"No,  thanks,"  said  the  old  lady.  "It  seems 
to  me  a  little — chilly,  out  here.  I'll  go  in." 

She  went  in  forthwith,  to  find  Miss  Orella 
furtively  wiping  her  eyes. 

"What  are  you  crying  about,  Orella 
Elder !  Just  because  a  man's  lost  his  money  ? 
That  happens  to  most  of  'em  now  and  then." 

"Yes,  I  know — but  you  heard  what  he 
said.  Oh,  I  can't  believe  it !  To  think  of  his 
having  to  be  provided  for  by  his  friends — 
and  having  to  take  a  small  salary — after  be- 
ing so  well  off!  I  am  so  sorry  for  him!" 

Miss  Elder's  sorrow  was  increased  to  in- 
tensity by  noting  Mrs.  St.  Cloud's  changed 
attitude.  Mr.  Dykeman  made  no  complaint, 
uttered  no  protest,  gave  no  confidences;  but 
it  soon  appeared  that  he  was  working  in  an 
office ;  and  furthermore  that  this  position  was 
given  him  by  Mr.  Skee. 


234  THE  CRUX 

That  gentleman,  though  discreetly  reti- 
cent as  to  his  own  affairs,  now  appeared  in 
far  finer  raiment  than  he  had  hitherto  af- 
fected; developed  a  pronounced  taste  in  fobs 
and  sleeve  buttons;  and  a  striking  harmony 
in  socks  and  scarfs. 

Men  talked  openly  of  him;  no  one  seemed 
to  know  anything  definite,  but  all  were  cer- 
tain that  "Old  Skee  must  have  struck  it 
rich." 

Mr.  Skee  kept  his  own  counsel;  but  be- 
came munificent  in  gifts  and  entertainments. 
He  produced  two  imposing  presents  for 
Susie;  one  a  "betrothal  gift,"  the  other  a 
conventional  wedding  present. 

"This  is  a  new  one  to  me,"  he  said  when 
he  offered  her  the  first;  "but  I  understand 
it's  the  thing.  In  fact  I'm  sure  of  it — for 
I've  consulted  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  and  she  helped 
me  to  buy  'em." 

He  consulted  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  about  a  din- 
ner he  proposed  giving  to  Mr.  Saunders — 
"one  of  these  Farewell  to  Egypt  affairs," 
he  said.  "Not  that  I  imagine  Jim  Saund- 
ers ever  was  much  of  a — Egyptian — but 
then !" 


DETERMINATION  235 

He  consulted  her  also  about  Vivian — did 
she  not  think  the  girl  looked  worn  and  ill? 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  thing  to  send  her  off 
for  a  trip  somewhere? 

He  consulted  her  about  a  library;  said  he 
had  always  wanted  a  library  of  his  own,  but 
the  public  ones  were  somewhat  in  his  way. 
How  many  books  did  she  think  a  man  ought 
really  to  own — to  spend  his  declining  years 
among.  Also,  and  at  considerable  length 
he  consulted  her  about  the  best  possible  place 
of  residence. 

"I'm  getting  to  be  an  old  man,  Mrs.  St. 
Cloud,"  he  remarked  meditatively;  "and  I'm 
thinking  of  buying  and  building  somewhere. 
But  it's  a  ticklish  j  ob.  Lo !  these  many  years 
I've  been  perfectly  contented  to  live  wher- 
ever I  was  at;  and  now  that  I'm  consider- 
ing a  real  Home — blamed  if  I  know  where 
to  put  it!  I'm  distracted  between  A  Model 
Farm,  and  A  Metropolitan  Residence. 
Which  would  you  recommend,  Ma'am?" 

The  lady's  sympathy  and  interest  warmed 
to  Mr.  Skee  as  they  cooled  to  Mr.  Dykeman, 
not  with  any  blameworthy  or  noticeable 
suddenness,  but  in  soft  graduations,  steady 


236  THE  CRUX 

and  continuous.  The  one  wore  his  new 
glories  with  an  air  of  modest  pride;  making 
no  boast  of  affluence ;  and  the  other  accepted 
that  which  had  befallen  him  without  rebel- 
lion. 

Miss  Orella's  tender  heart  was  deeply 
touched.  As  fast  as  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  gave 
the  cold  shoulder  to  her  friend,  she  extended 
a  warm  hand ;  when  they  chatted  about  Mr. 
Skee's  visible  success,  she  spoke  bravely  of 
the  beauty  of  limited  means ;  and  when  it  was 
time  to  present  her  weekly  bills  to  the  board- 
ers, she  left  none  in  Mr.  Dykeman's  room. 
This  he  took  for  an  oversight  at  first;  but 
when  he  found  the  omission  repeated  on  the 
following  week,  he  stood  by  his  window 
smiling  thoughtfully  for  some  time,  and  then 
went  in  search  of  Miss  Orella. 

She  sat  by  her  shaded  lamp,  alone,  knit- 
ting a  silk  tie  which  was  promptly  hidden  as 
he  entered.  He  stood  by  the  door  looking 
at  her  in  spite  of  her  urging  him  to  be  seated, 
observing  the  warm  color  in  her  face,  the 
graceful  lines  of  her  figure,  the  gentle 
smile  that  was  so  unfailingly  attractive. 
Then  he  came  forward,  calmly  inquir- 


DETERMINATION  237 

ing,  "Why  haven't  you  sent  me  my  board 
bill?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  dropped 
them,  flushing.  "I — excuse  me;  but  I 
thought— 

"You  thought  I  couldn't  conveniently  pay 
it?" 

"O  please  excuse  me!  I  didn't  mean  to 
be — to  do  anything  you  wouldn't  like.  But 
I  did  hear  that  you  were — temporarily  em- 
barrassed. And  I  want  you  to  feel  sure,  Mr. 
Dykeman,  that  to  your  real  friends  it  makes 
no  difference  in  the  least.  And  if — for  a 
while  that  is — it  should  be  a  little  more  con- 
venient to — to  defer  payment,  please  feel 
perfectly  at  liberty  to  wait !" 

She  stood  there  blushing  like  a  girl,  her 
sweet  eyes  wet  with  shining  tears  that  did 
not  fall,  full  of  tender  sympathy  for  his  mis- 
fortune. 

"Have  you  heard  that  I've  lost  all  my 
money?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded  softly. 

"And  that  I  can't  ever  get  it  back — shall 
have  to  do  clerk's  work  at  a  clerk's  salary — 
as  long  as  I  live?" 


238  THE  CRUX 

Again  she  nodded. 

He  took  a  step  or  two  back  and  forth  in 
the  quiet  parlor,  and  returned  to  her. 

"Would  you  marry  a  poor  man?"  he 
asked  in  a  low  tender  voice.  "Would  you 
marry  a  man  not  young,  not  clever,  not  rich, 
but  who  loved  you  dearly?  You  are  the 
sweetest  woman  I  ever  saw,  Orella  Elder — 
will  you  marry  me?" 

She  came  to  him,  and  he  drew  her  close 
with  a  long  sigh  of  utter  satisfaction.  "Now 
I  am  rich  indeed,"  he  said  softly. 

She  held  him  off  a  little.  "Don't  talk 
about  being  rich.  It  doesn't  matter.  If 
you  like  to  live  here — why  this  house  will 
keep  us  both.  If  you'd  rather  have  a  little 
one — I  can  live  so  happily — on  so  little! 
And  there  is  my  own  little  home  in  Bainville 
— perhaps  you  could  find  something  to  do 
there.  I  don't  care  the  least  in  the  world — 
so  long  as  you  love  me!" 

"I've  loved  you  since  I  first  set  eyes  on 
you,"  he  answered  her.  "To  see  the  home 
you've  made  here  for  all  of  us  was  enough  to 
make  any  man  love  you.  But  I  thought 
awhile  back  that  I  hadn't  any  chance — you 


DETERMINATION  239 

weren't  jealous  of  that  Artificial  Fairy,  were 
you?" 

And  conscientiously  Miss  Orella  lied. 

Carston  society  was  pleased,  but  not  sur- 
prised at  Susie's  engagement;  it  was  both 
pleased  and  surprised  when  Miss  Elder's 
was  announced.  Some  there  were  who  pro- 
tested that  they  had  seen  it  from  the  begin- 
ning; but  disputatious  friends  taxed  them 
with  having  prophesied  quite  otherwise. 

Some  thought  Miss  Elder  foolish  to  take 
up  with  a  man  of  full  middle  age,  and  with 
no  prospects ;  and  others  attributed  the  fool- 
ishness to  Mr.  Dykeman,  in  marrying  an  old 
maid.  Others  again  darkly  hinted  that  he 
knew  which  side  his  bread  was  buttered — 
"and  first-rate  butter,  too."  Adding  that 
they  "did  hate  to  see  a  man  sit  around  and 
let  his  wife  keep  boarders !" 

In  Bainville  circles  the  event  created  high 
commotion.  That  one  of  their  accumulated 
maidens,  part  of  the  Virgin  Sacrifice  of  New 
England,  which  finds  not  even  a  Minotaur 
— had  thus  triumphantly  escaped  from  their 
ranks  and  achieved  a  husband;  this  was  flatly 
heretical.  The  fact  that  he  was  a  poor  man 


240  THE  CRUX 

was  the  only  mitigating  circumstance,  leav- 
ing it  open  to  the  more  captious  to  criticize 
the  lady  sharply. 

But  the  calm  contentment  of  Andrew 
Dykeman's  face,  and  the  decorous  bliss  of 
Miss  Elder's  were  untroubled  by  what  any- 
one thought  or  said. 

Little  Susie  was  delighted,  and  teased 
for  a  double  wedding;  without  success. 
"One  was  enough  to  attend  to,  at  one  time," 
her  aunt  replied. 

•  ••••• 

In  all  this  atmosphere  of  wooings  and 
weedings,  Vivian  walked  apart,  as  one  in  a 
bad  dream  that  could  never  end.  That  day 
when  Dr.  Bellair  left  her  on  the  hill,  left  her 
alone  in  a  strange  new  horrible  world,  was 
still  glaring  across  her  consciousness,  the  end 
of  one  life,  the  bar  to  any  other.  Its  small 
events  were  as  clear  to  her  as  those  which 
stand  out  so  painfully  on  a  day  of  death; 
all  that  led  up  to  the  pleasant  walk,  when  an 
eager  girl  mounted  the  breezy  height,  and 
a  sad-faced  woman  came  down  from  it. 

She  had  waited  long  and  came  home 
slowly,  dreading  to  see  a  face  she  knew, 


DE  TERM  IN  A  TION  241 

dreading  worst  of  all  to  see  Morton.  The 
boy  she  had  known  so  long,  the  man  she  was 
beginning  to  know,  had  changed  to  an  unbe- 
lievable horror;  and  the  love  which  had  so 
lately  seemed  real  to  her  recoiled  upon  her 
heart  with  a  sense  of  hopeless  shame. 

She  wished — eagerly,  desperately,  she 
wished — she  need  never  see  him  again.  She 
thought  of  the  man's  resource  of  running 
away — if  she  could  just  go,  go  at  once,  and 
write  to  him  from  somewhere. 

Distant  Bainville  seemed  like  a  haven  of 
safety ;  even  the  decorous,  narrow,  monotony 
of  its  dim  life  had  a  new  attraction.  These 
terrors  were  not  in  Bainville,  surely.  Then 
the  sickening  thought  crept  in  that  perhaps 
they  were — only  they  did  not  know  it.  Be- 
sides, she  had  no  money  to  go  with.  If  only 
she  had  started  that  little  school  sooner! 
Write  to  her  father  for  money  she  would 
not.  No,  she  must  bear  it  here. 

The  world  was  discolored  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  Love  had  become  a  horror  and  mar- 
riage impossible.  She  pushed  the  idea  from 
her,  impotently,  as  one  might  push  at  a  lava 
flow. 


242  THE  CRUX 

In  her  wide  reading  she  had  learned  in  a 
vague  way  of  "evil" — a  distant  undescribed 
evil  which  was  in  the  world,  and  which  must 
be  avoided.  She  had  known  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  "sin,"  and  abhorred  the  very 
thought  of  it. 

Morton's  penitential  confessions  had  given 
no  details;  she  had  pictured  him  only  as  be- 
ing "led  astray,"  as  being  "fast,"  even  per- 
haps "wicked."  Wickedness  could  be  for- 
given; and  she  had  forgiven  him,  royally. 
But  wickedness  was  one  thing,  disease  was 
another.  Forgiveness  was  no  cure. 

The  burden  of  new  knowledge  so  dis- 
tressed her  that  she  avoided  the  family  en- 
tirely that  evening,  avoided  Susie,  went  to 
her  grandmother  and  asked  if  she  might 
come  and  sleep  on  the  lounge  in  her  room. 

"Surely,  my  child,  glad  to  have  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Pettigrew  affectionately.  "Better  try 
my  bed — there's  room  a-plenty." 

The  girl  lay  long  with  those  old  arms 
about  her,  crying  quietly.  Her  grandmother 
asked  no  questions,  only  patted  her  softly 
from  time  to  time,  and  said,  "There !  There !" 
in  a  pleasantly  soothing  manner.  After 


DE  TERM  IN  A  TION  243 

some  time  she  remarked,  "If  you  want  to 
say  things,  my  dear,  say  'em — anything  you 
please." 

In  the  still  darkness  they  talked  long  and 
intimately;  and  the  wise  old  head  straight- 
ened things  out  somewhat  for  the  younger 
one. 

"Doctors  don't  realize  how  people  feel 
about  these  matters,"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 
"They  are  so  used  to  all  kinds  of  ghastly 
things  they  forget  that  other  folks  can't 
stand  'em.  She  was  too  hard  on  you, 
dearie." 

But  Vivian  defended  the  doctor.  "Oh, 
no,  Grandma.  She  did  it  beautifully.  And 
it  hurt  her  so.  She  told  me  about  her  own 
— disappointment." 

"Yes,  I  remember  her  as  a  girl,  you  see. 
A  fine  sweet  girl  she  was  too.  It  was  an 
awful  blow — and  she  took  it  hard.  It  has 
made  her  bitter,  I  think,  perhaps;  that  and 
the  number  of  similar  cases  she  had  to  cope 
with." 

"But,  Grandma — is  it — can  it  be  as  bad 
as  she  said?  Seventy-five  per  cent!  Three- 
quarters  of — of  everybody!" 


244  THE  CRUX 

"Not  everybody,  dear;  thank  goodness. 
Our  girls  are  mostly  clean,  and  they  save 
the  race,  I  guess." 

"I  don't  even  want  to  see  a  man  again!" 
said  the  girl  with  low  intensity. 

"Shouldn't  think  you  would,  at  first. 
But,  d(eaii  child — just  brace  yourself  and 
look  it  fair  in  the  face!  The  world's  no 
worse  than  it  was  yesterday — just  because 
you  know  more  about  it!" 

"No,"  Vivian  admitted,  "But  it's  like 
uncovering  a  charnel  house !"  she  shuddered. 

"Never  saw  a  charnel  house  myself,"  said 
the  old  lady,  "even  with  the  lid  on.  But 
now  see  here,  child;  you  mustn't  feel  as  if 
all  men  were  Unspeakable  Villains.  They 
are  just  ignorant  boys — and  nobody  ever 
tells  'em  the  truth.  Nobody  used  to  know 
it,  for  that  matter.  All  this  about  gonorrhea 
is  quite  newly  discovered — it  has  set  the 
doctors  all  by  the  ears.  Having  women  doc- 
tors has  made  a  difference  too — lots  of  dif- 
ference." 

"Besides,"  she  went  on  after  a  pause, 
"things  are  changing  very  fast  now,  since 
the  general  airing  began.  Dr.  Prince  Mor- 


DETERMINATION  245 

row  in  New  York,  with  that  society  of  his 
—  ( I  can  never  remember  the  name — makes 
me  think  of  tooth-brushes)  has  done  much; 
and  the  popular  magazines  have  taken  it 
up.  You  must  have  seen  some  of  those 
articles,  Vivian." 

"I  have,"  the  girl  said,  "but  I  couldn't 
bear  to  read  them — ever." 

"That's  it!"  responded  her  grandmother, 
tartly;  "we  bring  up  girls  to  think  it  is  not 
proper  to  know  anything  about  the  worst 
danger  before  them.  Proper! — Why  my 
dear  child,  the  young  girls  are  precisely  the 
ones  to  know!  it's  no  use  to  tell  a  woman 
who  has  buried  all  her  children — or  wishes 
she  had! — that  it  was  all  owing  to  her 
ignorance,  and  her  husband's.  You  have 
to  know  beforehand  if  it's  to  do  you  any 
good." 

After  awhile  she  continued:  "Women  are 
waking  up  to  this  all  over  the  country,  now. 
Nice  women,  old  and  young.  The  women's 
clubs  and  congresses  are  taking  it  up,  as 
they  should.  Some  states  have  passed  laws 
requiring  a  medical  certificate — a  clean  bill 
of  health — to  go  with  a  license  to  marry. 


246  THE  CRUX 

You  can  see  that's  reasonable!  A  man  has 
to  be  examined  to  enter  the  army  or  navy, 
even  to  get  his  life  insured;  Marriage  and 
Parentage  are  more  important  than  those 
things!  And  we  are  beginning  to  teach 
children  and  young  people  what  they  ought 
to  know.  There's  hope  for  us!" 

"But  Grandma — it's  so  awful — about  the 
children." 

"Yes,  dear,  yes.  It's  pretty  awful.  But 
don't  feel  as  if  we  were  all  on  the  brink  of 
perdition.  Remember  that  we've  got  a 
whole  quarter  of  the  men  to  bank  on. 
That's  a  good  many,  in  this  country.  We're 
not  so  bad  as  Europe — not  yet — in  this  line. 
Then  just  think  of  this,  child.  We  have 
lived,  and  done  splendid  things  all  these 
years,  even  with  this  load  of  disease  on  us. 
Think  what  we  can  do  when  we're  rid  of  it ! 
And  that's  in  the  hands  of  woman,  my  dear 
—as  soon  as  we  know  enough.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  knowledge.  When  we  all  know 
about  this  we  can  stop  it!  Think  of  that. 
We  can  religiously  rid  the  world  of  all  these 
— 'undesirable  citizens.' ' 

"How,  Grandma?" 


DETERMINATION  247 

"Easy  enough,  my  dear.  By  not  marry- 
ing them." 

There  was  a  lasting  silence. 

Grandma  finally  went  to  sleep,  making 
a  little  soft  whistling  sound  through  her 
parted  lips;  but  Vivian  lay  awake  for  long 
slow  hours. 

•          ••••• 

It  was  one  thing  to  make  up  her  own 
mind,  though  not  an  easy  one,  by  any 
means;  it  was  quite  another  to  tell  Morton. 

He  gave  her  no  good  opportunity.  He 
did  not  say  again,  "Will  you  marry  me?" 
So  that  she  could  say,  "No,"  and  be  done 
with  it.  He  did  not  even  say,  "When  will 
you  marry  me?"  to  which  she  could  answer 
"Never!"  He  merely  took  it  for  granted 
that  she  was  going  to,  and  continued  to 
monopolize  her  as  far  as  possible,  with  all 
pleasant  and  comfortable  attentions. 

She  forced  the  situation  even  more  sharp- 
ly than  she  wished,  by  turning  from  him 
with  a  shiver  when  he  met  her  on  the  stairs 
one  night  and  leaned  forward  as  if  to  kiss 
her. 

He  stopped  short. 


248  THE  CRUX 

"What  is  the  matter,  Vivian — are  you 
ill?" 

"No — "  She  could  say  nothing  further, 
but  tried  to  pass  him. 

"Look  here — there  is  something.  You've 
been — different — for  several  days.  Have  I 
done  anything  you  don't  like?" 

"Oh,  Morton!"  His  question  was  so  ex- 
actly to  the  point;  and  so  exquisitely  inade- 
quate !  He  had  indeed. 

"I  care  too  much  for  you  to  let  anything 
stand  between  us,  now,"  he  went  on. 

"Come,  there's  no  one  in  the  upper  hall 
= — come  and  'tell  me  the  worst.' ' 

"As  well  now  as  ever,"  thought  the  girl. 
Yet  when  they  sat  on  the  long  window  seat, 
and  he  turned  his  handsome  face  toward  her, 
.with  that  newer,  better  look  on  it,  she  could 
not  believe  that  this  awful  thing  was  true. 

"Now  then — What  is  wrong  between 
us?"  he  said. 

She  answered  only,  "I  will  tell  you  the 
worst,  Morton.  I  cannot  marry  you — 


ever." 


He  whitened  to  the  lips,  but  asked  quiet- 
ly, "Why?" 


DE  TERM  IN  A  TION  249 

"Because  you  have — Oh,  I  cannot  tell 
you!" 

"I  have  a  right  to  know,  Vivian.  You 
have  made  a  man  of  me.  I  love  you  with 
my  whole  heart.  What  have  I  done — that 
I  have  not  told  you?" 

Then  she  recalled  his  contrite  confessions ; 
and  contrasted  what  he  had  told  her  with 
what  he  had  not;  with  the  unspeakable  fate 
to  which  he  would  have  consigned  her — and 
those  to  come;  and  a  sort  of  holy  rage  rose 
within  her. 

"You  never  told  me  of  the  state  of  your 
health,  Morton." 

It  was  done.  She  looked  to  see  him  fall 
at  her  feet  in  utter  abashment,  but  he  did 
nothing  of  the  kind.  What  he  did  do  as- 
tonished her  beyond  measure.  He  rose  to 
his  feet,  with  clenched  fists. 

"Has  that  damned  doctor  been  giving 
me  away?"  he  demanded.  "Because  if  he 
has  F 11  kill  him!" 

"He  has  not,"  said  Vivian.  "Not  by  the 
faintest  hint,  ever.  And  is  that  all  you  think 
of?— 

"Good-bye." 


250  THE  CRUX 

She  rose  to  leave  him,  sick  at  heart. 

Then  he  seemed  to  realize  that  she  was 
going;  that  she  meant  it. 

"Surely,  surely!"  he  cried,  "y°u  won't 
throw  me  over  now!  Oh,  Vivian!  I  told 
you  I  had  been  wild — that  I  wasn't  fit  to 
touch  your  little  slippers!  And  I  wasn't 
going  to  ask  you  to  marry  me  till  I  felt  sure 
this  was  all  done  with.  All  the  rest  of  my 
life  was  yours,  darling — is  yours.  You  have 
made  me  over — surely  you  won't  leave  me 
now!" 

"I  must,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  despairingly.  If  he 
lost  her  he  lost  not  only  a  woman,  but  the 
hope  of  a  life.  Things  he  had  never 
thought  about  before  had  now  grown  dear 
to  him;  a  home,  a  family,  an  honorable  place 
in  the  world,  long  years  of  quiet  happiness. 

"I  can't  lose  you!"  he  said.    "I  can't!" 

She  did  not  answer,  only  sat  there  with  a 
white  set  face  and  her  hands  tight  clenched 
in  her  lap. 

"Where'd  you  get  this  idea  anyhow?"  he 
burst  out  again.  "I  believe  it's  that  woman 
doctor!  What  does  she  know!" 


DETERMINATION  251 

"Look  here,  Morton,"  said  Vivian  firmly. 
"It  is  not  a  question  of  who  told  me.  The 
important  thing  is  that  it's — true!  And  I 
cannot  marry  you." 

"But  Vivian — "  he  pleaded,  trying  to 
restrain  the  intensity  of  his  feeling;  "men 
get  over  these  things.  They  do,  really.  It's 
not  so  awful  as  you  seem  to  think.  It's 
very  common.  And  I'm  nearly  well.  I 
was  going  to  wait  a  year  or  two  yet — to 
make  sure — .  Vivian!  I'd  cut  my  hand  off 
before  I'd  hurt  you!" 

There  was  real  agony  in  his  voice,  and 
her  heart  smote  her;  but  there  was  some- 
thing besides  her  heart  ruling  the  girl 
now. 

"I  am  sorry — I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said 
dully.  "But  I  will  not  marry  you." 

"You'll  throw  me  over — just  for  that! 
Oh,  Vivian  don't — you  can't.  I'm  no  worse 
than  other  men.  It  seems  so  terrible  to  you 
just  because  you're  so  pure  and  white.  It's 
only  what  they  call — wild  oats,  you  know. 
Most  men  do  it." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Afnd  will  you  punish  me — so  cruelly; — 


252  THE  CRUX 

for  that?  I  can't  live  without  you,  Vivian 
-I  won't!" 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  punishing  you, 
Morton,"  she  said  gently.  "Nor  myself. 
It  is  not  the  sin  I  am  considering.  It  is 
the  consequences!" 

He  felt  a  something  high  and  implacable 
in  the  gentle  girl;  something  he  had  never 
found  in  her  before.  He  looked  at  her  with 
despairing  eyes.  Her  white  grace,  her 
stately  little  ways,  her  delicate  beauty,  had 
never  seemed  so  desirable. 

"Good  God,  Vivian.  You  can't  mean  it. 
Give  me  time.  Wait  for  me.  I'll  be 
straight  all  the  rest  of  my  life — I  mean 
it.  I'll  be  true  to  you,  absolutely.  I'll 
do  anything  you  say — only  don't  give 
me  up!" 

She  felt  old,  hundreds  of  years  old,  and 
as  remote  as  far  mountains. 

"It  isn't  anything  you  can  do — in  the  rest 
of  your  life,  my  poor  boy!  It  is  what  you 
have  done — in  the  first  of  it!  .  .  .  Oh, 
Morton!  It  isn't  right  to  let  us  grow  up 
without  knowing!  You  never  would  have 
done  it  if  you'd  known — would  you?  Can't 


DETERMINATION  253 

you — can't  we — do  something  to — stop  this 
awf  ulness?" 

Her  tender  heart  suffered  in  the  pain  she 
was  inflicting,  suffered  too  in  her  own  loss; 
for  as  she  faced  the  thought  of  final  separa- 
tion she  found  that  her  grief  ran  back  into 
the  far-off  years  of  childhood.  But  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  with  a  finality  only  the 
more  absolute  because  it  hurt  her.  Even 
what  he  said  of  possible  recovery  did  not 
move  her — the  very  thought  of  marriage  had 
become  impossible. 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  she  added,  with  a 
shiver;  thinking  that  he  might  derive  some 
comfort  from  the  thought;  but  he  replied 
with  a  bitter  derisive  little  laugh.  He  did 
not  rise  to  her  appeal  to  "help  the  others." 
So  far  in  life  the  happiness  of  Morton  Elder 
had  been  his  one  engrossing  care;  and  now 
the  unhappiness  of  Morton  Elder  assumed 
even  larger  proportions. 

That  bright  and  hallowed  future  to  which 
he  had  been  looking  forward  so  earnestly 
had  been  suddenly  withdrawn  from  him;  his 
good  resolutions,  his  "living  straight"  for 
the  present,  were  wasted. 


254  THE  'CRUX 

"You  women  that  are  so  superior,"  he 
said,  "that'll  turn  a  man  down  for  things 
that  are  over  and  done  with — that  he's  sorry 
for  and  ashamed  of — do  you  know  what  you 
drive  a  man  to !  What  do  you  think's  going 
to  become  of  me  if  you  throw  me  over!" 

He  reached  out  his  hands  to  her  in  real 
agony.  "Vivian!  I  love  you!  I  can't  live 
without  you!  I  can't  be  good  without  you! 
And  you  love  me  a  little — don't  you?" 

She  did.  She  could  not  deny  it.  She 
loved  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the  future,  to  for- 
give the  past,  to  come  to  those  outstretched 
arms  and  bury  everything  beneath  that  one 
overwhelming  phrase — "I  love  you!" 

But  she  heard  again  Dr.  Bellair's  clear 
low  accusing  voice — "Will  you  tell  that  to 
your  crippled  children?" 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  "I  cannot  help  it, 
Morton.  I  am  sorry — you  will  not  believe 
how  sorry  I  am!  But  I  will  never  marry 
you." 

A  look  of  swift  despair  swept  over  his 
face.  It  seemed  to  darken  visibly  as  she 
watched.  An  expression  of  bitter  hatred 
came  upon  him;  of  utter  recklessness. 


DETERMINATION  255 

All  that  the  last  few  months  had  seemed 
to  bring  of  higher  better  feeling  fell  from 
him;  and  even  as  she  pitied  him  she  thought 
with  a  flicker  of  fear  of  how  this  might  have 
happened — after  marriage. 

"Oh,  well!"  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet.  "I 
wish  you  could  have  made  up  your  mind 
sooner,  that's  all.  I'll  take  myself  off  now." 

She  reached  out  her  hands  to  him. 

"Morton!  Please! — don't  go  away  feel- 
ing so  hardly!  I  am — fond  of  you — I  al- 
ways was. — Won't  you  let  me  help  you — to 
bear  it — !  Can't  we  be — friends?" 

Again  he  laughed  that  bitter  little  laugh. 
"No,  Miss  Lane,"  he  said.  "We  distinctly 
cannot.  This  is  good-bye — You  won't 
change  your  mind — again?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  silence,  and  he  left 
her. 


256  THE  CRUX 


CHAPTER  XL 


THEREAFTER. 


If  I  do  right,  though  heavens  fall, 
And  end  all  light  and  laughter; 

Though  black  the  night  and   ages  long1, 
Bitter  the  cold — the  tempest  strong — 

If  I  do  right,  and  brave  it  all — 
The  sun  shall  rise  thereafter! 


THE  inaccessibility  of  Dr.  Hale  gave 
him,  in  the  eye  of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud, 
all  the  attractiveness  of  an  unsealed 
peak  to  the  true  mountain  climber.  Here 
was  a  man,  an  unattached  man,  living  next 
door  to  her,  whom  she  had  not  even  seen. 
Her  pursuance  of  what  Mr.  Skee  announced 
to  his  friends  to  be  "one  of  these  Platonic 
Friendships,"  did  not  falter;  neither  did 
her  interest  in  other  relations  less-  philo- 
sophic. Mr.  Dykeman's  precipitate  descent 
from  the  class  of  eligibles  was  more  of  a  dis- 
appointment to  her  than  she  would  admit 


THEREAFTER  257 

even  to  herself;  his  firm,  kind  friendliness 
had  given  a  sense  of  comfort,  of  achieved 
content  that  her  restless  spirit  missed. 

But  Dr.  Hale,  if  he  had  been  before  inac- 
cessible, had  now  become  so  heavily  fortified, 
so  empanoplied  in  armor  offensive  and  de- 
fensive, that  even  Mrs.  Pettigrew  found  it 
difficult  to  obtain  speech  with  him. 

That  his  best  friend,  so  long  supporting 
him  in  cheerful  bachelorhood,  should  have 
thus  late  laid  down  his  arms,  was  bitterly 
resented.  That  Mr.  Skee,  free  lance  of 
years  standing,  and  risen  victor  from  several 
"stricken  fields,"  should  show  signs  of  ca- 
pitulation, annoyed  him  further.  Whether 
these  feelings  derived  their  intensity  from 
another,  which  he  entirely  refused  to  ac- 
knowledge, is  matter  for  the  psychologist, 
and  Dr.  Hale  avoided  all  psychologic  self- 
examination. 

With  the  boys  he  was  always  a  hero.  They 
admired  his  quiet  strength  and  the  unbroken 
good  nature  that  was  always  presented  to 
those  about  him,  whatever  his  inner  feelings. 

Mr.  Peters  burst  forth  to  the  others  one 
day,  in  tones  of  impassioned  admiration. 


258  THE  CRUX 

"By  George,  fellows,"  he  said,  "you  know 
how  nice  Doc  was  last  night?" 

"Never  saw  him  when  he  wasn't,"  said 
Archie. 

"Don't  interrupt  Mr.  Peters,"  drawled 
Percy.  "He's  on  the  brink  of  a  scientific 
discovery.  Strange  how  these  secrets  of 
nature  can  lie  unrevealed  about  us  so 
long — and  then  suddenly  burst  upon  our 
ken!" 

Mr.  Peters  grinned  affably.  "That's  all 
right,  but  I  maintain  my  assertion;  what- 
ever the  general  attraction  of  our  noble  host, 
you'll  admit  that  on  the  special  occasion  of 
yesterday  evening,  which  we  celebrated  to  a 
late  hour  by  innocent  games  of  cards — he 
was — as  usual — the  soul  of — of " 

"Affability?"  suggested  Percy. 

"Precisely!"  Peters  admitted.  "If  there 
is  a  well-chosen  word  which  perfectly  de- 
scribes the  manner  of  Dr.  Richard  Hale — it 
is  affable !  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you.  Well, 
what  I  wish  to  announce,  so  that  you  can  all 
of  you  get  down  on  your  knees  at  once  and 
worship,  is  that  all  last  evening  he — had 
a  toothache — a  bad  toothache!" 


THEREAFTER  259 

"My  word!"  said  Archie,  and  remained 
silent. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  Percy  protested,  "that's 
against  nature.  Have  a  toothache  and  not 
mention  it?  Not  even  mention  it — without 
exaggeration!  Why  Archimedes  couldn't 
do  that!  Or — Sandalphon — or  any  of  them!" 

"How'd  you  learn  the  facts,  my  son?  Tell 
us  that." 

"Heard  him  on  the  'phone  making  an  ap- 
pointment. 'Yes;'  'since  noon  yesterday,' 
'yes,  pretty  severe.'  '11 :30?  You  can't  make 
it  earlier?  All  right.'  I'm  just  mentioning 
it  to  convince  you  fellows  that  you  don't  ap- 
preciate your  opportunities.  There  was 
some  exceptional  Female  once — they  said 
'to  know  her  was  a  liberal  education.'  What 
would  you  call  it  to  live  with  Dr.  Hale?" 

And  they  called  it  every  fine  thing  they 
could  think  of;  for  these  boys  knew  better 
than  anyone  else,  the  effect  of  that  associa- 
tion. 

His  patients  knew  him  as  wise,  gentle,  ef- 
ficient, bringing  a  sense  of  hope  and  assur- 
ance by  the  mere  touch  of  that  strong  hand ; 
his  professional  associates  in  the  town  knew 


260  THE  CRUX 

him  as  a  good  practitioner  and  friend,  and 
wider  medical  circles,  readers  of  his  articles 
in  the  professional  press  had  an  even  higher 
opinion  of  his  powers. 

Yet  none  of  these  knew  Richard  Hale. 
None  saw  him  sitting  late  in  his  office,  the 
pages  of  his  book  unturned,  his  eyes  on  the 
red  spaces  of  the  fire.  No  one  was  with  him 
on  those  night  tramps  that  left  but  an  hour 
or  two  of  sleep  to  the  long  night,  and  made 
that  sleep  irrestible  from  self -enforced  fa- 
tigue. He  had  left  the  associations  of  his 
youth  and  deliberately  selected  this  far-off 
mountain  town  to  build  the  life  he  chose;  and 
if  he  found  it  unsatisfying  no  one  was  the 
wiser. 

His  successive  relays  of  boys,  young  fel- 
lows fresh  from  the  East,  coming  from  year 
to  year  and  going  from  year  to  year  as  busi- 
ness called  them,  could  and  did  give  good 
testimony  as  to  the  home  side  of  his  char- 
acter, however.  It  was  not  in  nature  that 
they  should  speculate  about  him.  As  they 
fell  in  love  and  out  again  with  the  facility  of 
so  many  Romeos,  they  discoursed  among 
themselves  as  to  his  misogyny. 


THEREAFTER  261 

"He  certainly  has  a  grouch  on  women," 
they  would  admit.  "That's  the  one  thing 
you  can't  talk  to  him  about — shuts  up  like  a 
clam.  Of  course,  he'll  let  you  talk  about 
your  own  feelings  and  experiences,  but  you 
might  as  well  talk  to  the  side  of  a  hill.  I 
wonder  what  did  happen  to  him?" 

They  made  no  inquiry,  however.  It  was 
reported  that  a  minister's  wife,  a  person  of 
determined  character,  had  had  the  courage 
of  her  inquisitiveness,  and  asked  him  once, 
"Why  is  it  that  you  have  never  married,  Dr. 
Hale?"  And  that  he  had  replied,  "It  is 
owing  to  my  dislike  of  the  meddlesomeness 
of  women."  He  lived  his  own  life,  unques- 
tioned, now  more  markedly  withdrawn  than 
ever,  coming  no  more  to  The  Cottonwood. 

Even  when  Morton  Elder  left,  suddenly 
and  without  warning,  to  the  great  grief  of 
his  aunt  and  astonishment  of  his  sister,  their 
medical  neighbor  still  "sulked  in  his  tent" — 
or  at  least  in  his  office. 

Morton's  departure  had  but  one  explana- 
tion ;  it  must  be  that  Vivian  had  refused  him, 
and  she  did  not  deny  it. 

"But  why,  Vivian,  why?     He  has  im- 


262  THE  CRUX 

proved  so — it  was  just  getting  lovely  to  see 
how  nice  he  was  getting.  And  we  all  thought 
you  were  so  happy."  Thus  the  perplexed 
Susie.  And  Vivian  found  herself  utterly 
unable  to  explain  to  that  happy  little  heart, 
on  the  brink  of  marriage,  why  she  had  re- 
fused her  brother. 

Miss  Orella  was  even  harder  to  satisfy. 
"It's  not  as  if  you  were  a  foolish  changeable 
young  girl,  my  dear.  And  you've  known 
Morton  all  your  life — he  was  no  stranger  to 
you.  It  breaks  my  heart,  Vivian.  Can't 
you  reconsider?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Miss  Orella.  Please 
believe  that  I  did  it  for  the  best — and  that  it 
was  very  hard  for  me,  too." 

"But,  Vivian!  What  can  be  the  reason? 
I  don't  think  you  understand  what  a  beauti- 
ful influence  you  have  on  the  boy.  He  has 
improved  so,  since  he  has  been  here.  And  he 
was  going  to  get  a  position  here  in  town — he 
told  me  so  himself — and  really  settle  down. 
And  now  he's  gone.  Just  off  and  away,  as 
he  used  to  be — and  I  never  shall  feel  easy 
about  him  again." 


THEREAFTER  263 

Miss  Orella  was  frankly  crying;  and  it 
wrung  the  girl's  heart  to  know  the  pain  she 
was  causing;  not  only  to  Morton,  and  to 
herself,  but  to  these  others. 

Susie  criticised  her  with  frankness. 

"I  know  you  think  you  are  right,  Vivian, 
you  always  do — you  and  that  conscience  of 
yours.  But  I  really  think  you  had  gone  too 
far  to  draw  back,  Jimmie  saw  him  that  night 
he  went  away — and  he  said  he  looked  aw- 
fully. And  he  really  was  changed  so — be- 
ginning to  be  so  thoroughly  nice.  Whatever 
was  the  matter?  I  think  you  ought  to  tell 
me,  Vivian,  I'm  his  sister,  and — being  en- 
gaged and  all — perhaps  I  could  straighten 
it  out." 

And  she  was  as  nearly  angry  as  her  sunny 
nature  allowed,  when  her  friend  refused  to 
give  any  reason,  beyond  that  she  thought  it 
right. 

Her  aunt  did  not  criticise,  but  pleaded. 
"It's  not  too  late,  I'm  sure,  Vivian.  A  word 
from  you  would  bring  him  back  in  a  moment. 
Do  speak  it,  Vivian — do!  Put  your  pride 
in  your  pocket,  child,  and  don't  lose  a  life- 
time's happiness  for  some  foolish  quarrel." 


264  THE  CRUX 

Miss  Orella,  like  Susie,  was  at  present 
sure  that  marriage  must  mean  a  lifetime's 
happiness.  And  Vivian  looked  miserably 
from  one  to  the  other  of  these  loving  women- 
folk, and  could  not  defend  herself  with  the 
truth. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  took  up  the  cudgels  for 
her.  She  was  not  going  to  have  her  favorite 
grandchild  thus  condemned  and  keep  silence. 
" Anybody 'd  think  Vivian  had  married  the 
man  and  then  run  away  with  another  one!" 
she  said  tartly.  "Pity  if  a  girl  can't  change 
her  mind  before  marrying — she's  held  down 
pretty  close  afterward.  An  engagement  isn't 
a  wedding,  Orella  Elder." 

"But  you  don't  consider  the  poor  boy's 
feelings  in  the  least,  Mrs.  Pettigrew." 

"No,  I  don't,"  snapped  the  old  lady.  "I 
consider  the  poor  girl's.  I'm  willing  to  bet 
as  much  as  you  will  that  his  feelings  aren't 
any  worse  than  hers.  If  he'd  changed  his 
mind  and  run  off  and  left  her,,  I  warrant  you 
two  wouldn't  have  been  so  hard  on  him." 

Evading  this  issue,  Miss  Orella  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  said:  "Heaven  knows  where  he  is 
now.  And  I'm  afraid  he  won't  write — he 


THEREAFTER  265 

never  did  write  much,  and  now  he's  just 
heartbroken.  I  don't  know  as  I'd  have  seen 
him  at  all  if  I  hadn't  been  awake  and  heard 
him  rushing  downstairs.  You've  no  idea 
how  he  suffers." 

"I  don't  see  as  the  girl's  to  blame  that  he 
hadn't  decency  enough  to  say  good-bye  to 
the  aunt  that's  been  a  mother  to  him;  or  to 
write  to  her,  as  he  ought  to.  A  person  don't 
need  to  forget  all  their  duty  because  they've 
got  the  mitten." 

Vivian  shrank  away  from  them  all.  Her 
heart  ached  intolerably.  She  had  not  real- 
ized how  large  a  part  in  her  life  this  constant 
admiration  and  attention  had  become.  She 
missed  the  outward  agreeableness,  and  the 
soft  tide  of  affection,  which  had  risen  more 
and  more  warmly  about  her.  From  her 
earliest  memories  she  had  wished  for  affec- 
tion— affection  deep  and  continuous,  tender 
and  with  full  expression.  She  had  been  too 
reserved  to  show  her  feeling,  too  proud  by 
far  to  express  it,  but  under  that  delicate  re- 
ticence of  hers  lay  always  that  deep  longing 
to  love  and  to  be  loved  wholly. 

Susie  had  been  a  comfort  always,  in  her 


266  THE  CRUX 

kittenish  affection  and  caressing  ways,  but 
Susie  was  doubly  lost,  both  in  her  new  ab- 
sorption and  now  in  this  estrangement. 

Then,  to  bring  pain  to  Miss  Orella,  who 
had  been  so  kind  and  sweet  to  her  from  earl- 
iest childhood,  to  hurt  her  so  deeply,  now, 
to  mingle  in  her  cup  of  happiness  this  grief 
and  anxiety,  made  the  girl  suffer  keenly. 
Jimmie,  of  course,  was  able  to  comfort  Susie. 
He  told  her  it  was  no  killing  matter  anyhow, 
and  that  Morton  would  inevitably  console 
himself  elsewhere.  "He'll  never  wear  the 
willow  for  any  girl,  my  dear.  Don't  you 
worry  about  him." 

Also,  Mr.  Dykeman  comforted  Miss  Orel- 
la,  not  only  with  wise  words,  but  with  his 
tender  sympathy  and  hopefulness.  But  no 
one  could  comfort  Vivian. 

Even  Dr.  Bellair  seemed  to  her  present 
sensitiveness  an  alien,  cruel  power.  She  had 
come  like  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword 
to  stand  between  her  and  what,  now  that  it 
was  gone,  began  to  look  like  Paradise. 

She  quite  forgot  that  she  had  always 
shrunk  from  Morton  when  he  made  love  too 
warmly,  that  she  had  been  far  from  wholly 


THEREAFTER  267 

pleased  with  him  when  he  made  his  appear- 
ance there,  that  their  engagement,  so  far  as 
they  had  one,  was  tentative — "sometime, 
when  I  am  good  enough"  not  having  arrived. 
The  unreasoning  voice  of  the  woman's  na- 
ture within  her  had  answered,  though  hut 
partially,  to  the  deep  call  of  the  man's ;  and 
now  she  missed  more  than  she  would  admit 
to  herself  the  tenderness  that  was  gone. 

She  had  her  intervals  of  sharp  withdrawal 
from  the  memory  of  that  tenderness,  of  deep 
thanksgiving  for  her  escape;  but  fear  of  a 
danger  only  prophesied,  does  not  obliterate 
memory  of  joys  experienced. 

Her  grandmother  watched  her  carefully, 
saying  little.  She  forced  no  confidence, 
made  no  comment,  was  not  obtrusively  af- 
fectionate, but  formed  a  definite  decision 
and  conveyed  it  clearly  to  Dr.  Bellair. 

"Look  here,  Jane  Bellair,  you've  upset 
Vivian's  dish,  and  quite  right;  it's  a  good 
thing  you  did,  and  I  don't  know  as  you  could 
have  done  it  easier." 

"I  couldn't  have  done  it  harder — that  I 
know  of,"  the  doctor  answered.  "I'd  sooner 
operate  on  a  baby — without  an  anaesthetic — 


268  THE  CRUX 

than  tell  a  thing  like  that — to  a  girl  like  that. 
But  it  had  to  be  done;  and  nobody  else 
would." 

"You  did  perfectly  right.  I'm  thankful 
enough,  I  promise  you;  if  you  hadn't  I 
should  have  had  to — and  goodness  knows 
what  a  mess  I'd  have  made.  But  look 
here,  the  girl's  going  all  to  pieces.  Now 
we've  got  to  do  something  for  her,  and  do 
it  quick." 

"I  know  that  well  enough,"  answered  her 
friend,  "and  I  set  about  it  even  before  I 
made  the  incision.  You've  seen  that  little 
building  going  up  on  the  corner  of  High 
and  Stone  Streets?" 

"That  pretty  little  thing  with  the  grass 
and  flowers  round  it?" 

"Yes — they  got  the  flowers  growing  while 
the  decorators  finished  inside.  It's  a  first- 
rate  little  kindergarten.  I've  got  a  list  of 
scholars  all  arranged  for,  and  am  going  to 
pop  the  girl  into  it  so  fast  she  can't  refuse. 
Not  that  I  think  she  will." 

"Who  did  it?"  demanded  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 
"That  man  Skee?" 

"Mr.  Skee  has  had  something  to  do  with 


THEREAFTER  269 

it,"  replied  the  doctor,  guardedly;  "but  he 
doesn't  want  his  name  mentioned." 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 

Vivian  made  no  objection,  though  she  was 
too  listless  to  take  up  work  with  enthusiasm. 

As  a  prescription  nothing  could  have 
wrorked  better.  Enough  small  pupils  were 
collected  to  pay  the  rent  of  the  pretty  place, 
and  leave  a  modest  income  for  her. 

Dr.  Bellair  gathered  together  the  mothers 
and  aunts  for  a  series  of  afternoon  talks  in 
the  convenient  building,  Vivian  assisting, 
and  roused  much  interest  among  them.  The 
loving  touch  of  little  hands,  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  gay  contentment  of  her  well- 
ordered  charges,  began  to  lighten  the  girl's 
heart  at  last.  They  grew  so  fond  of  her  that 
the  mothers  were  jealous,  but  she  played 
with  and  taught  them  so  wisely,  and  the 
youngsters  were  so  much  improved  by  it, 
that  no  parent  withdrew  her  darling. 

Further  than  that,  the  new  interest,  the 
necessary  reading  and  study,  above  all  the 
study  hours  of  occupation  acted  most  bene- 
ficently, slowly,  but  surely  steadying  the 
nerves  and  comforting  the  heart. 


270  THE  CRUX 

There  is  a  telling  Oriental  phrase  describ- 
ing sorrow:  "And  the  whole  world  became 
strait  unto  him."  The  sense  of  final  closing 
down  of  life,  of  a  dull,  long,  narrow  path 
between  her  and  the  grave,  which  had  so  op- 
pressed the  girl's  spirit,  now  changed  rapid- 
ly. Here  was  room  to  love  at  least,  and  she 
radiated  a  happy  and  unselfish  affection 
among  the  little  ones.  Here  was  love  in  re- 
turn, very  sweet  and  honest,  if  shallow.  Here 
was  work;  something  to  do,  something  to 
think  about;  both  in  her  hours  with  the  chil- 
dren and  those  spent  in  study.  Her  work 
took  her  out  of  the  house,  too;  away  from 
Susie  and  her  aunt,  with  their  happy  chatter 
and  endless  white  needlework,  and  the  glee- 
ful examination  of  presents. 

Never  before  had  she  known  the  blessed 
relief  of  another  place  to  go  to. 

.When  she  left  The  Cotton  woods,  as  early 
as  possible,  and  placed  her  key  in  the  door  of 
the  little  gray  house  sitting  among  the  roses, 
she  felt  a  distinct  lightening  of  the  heart. 
This  was  hers.  Not  her  father's,  not  Miss 
Elder's;  not  anybody's  but  hers — as  long  as 
she  could  earn  the  rent. 


THEREAFTER  271 

She  paid  her  board,  too,  in  spite  of  deep 
and  pained  remonstrance,  forcing  Miss  El- 
der to  accept  it  by  the  ultimatum  "would  you 
rather  make  me  go  away  and  board  some- 
where else?"  She  could  not  accept  favors 
where  she  was  condemned. 

This,  too,  gave  her  a  feeling  hitherto  in- 
experienced, deep  and  inspiring.  She  began 
to  hold  her  graceful  head  insensibly  higher, 
to  walk  with  a  freer  step.  Life  was  not 
ended  after  all,  though  Love  had  gone.  She 
might  not  be  happy,  but  she  might  be  useful 
and  independent. 

Then  Dr.  Bellair,  who  had  by  quiet  friend- 
liness and  wise  waiting,  regained  much  of 
her  former  place  with  the  girl,  asked  her  to 
undertake,  as  a  special  favor  to  her,  the  care 
of  a  class  of  rather  delicate  children  and 
young  girls,  in  physical  culture. 

"Of  course,  Johanna  Johnson  is  perfectly 
reliable  and  an  excellent  teacher.  I  don't 
know  a  better;  but  their  mothers  will  feel 
easier  if  there's  someone  they  know  on  the 
spot.  You  keep  order  and  see  that  they 
don't  overdo.  You'll  have  to  go  through 
their  little  exercises  with  them,  you  see.  I 


27B  THE  CRUX 

can't  pay  you  anything  for  it;  But  it's  only 
part  of  two  afternoons  in  the  week — and  it 
won't  hurt  you  at  any  rate." 

Vivian  was  more  than  glad  to  do  some- 
thing for  the  doctor,  as  well  as  to  extend  her 
friendship  among  older  children;  also  glad 
of  anything  to  further  fill  her  time.  To  be 
alone  and  idle  was  to  think  and  suffer. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  came  in  with  Dr.  Bellair 
one  afternoon  to  watch  the  exercises. 

"I  don't  see  but  what  Vivian  does  the 
tricks  as  well  as  any  of  them,"  said  her 
grandmother. 

"She  does  beautifully,"  the  doctor  an- 
swered. "And  her  influence  with  the  chil- 
dren is  just  what  they  needed.  You  see 
there's  no  romping  and  foolishness,  and  she 
sets  the  pace — starts  them  off  when  they're 
shy.  I'm  extremely  obliged  to  her." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  watched  Vivian's  rhyth- 
mic   movements,    her    erect    carriage    and 
swinging  step,  her  warm  color  and  sparkling 
eyes,  as  she  led  the  line  of  happy  youngsters 
and  then  turned  upon  the  doctor. 
"Huh!"  she  said. 
At  Susie's  wedding,  her  childhood's  friend 


THEREAFTER  273 

was  so  far  forgiven  as  to  be  chief  bridesmaid, 
but  seeing  the  happiness  before  her  opened 
again  the  gates  of  her  own  pain. 

When  it  was  all  over,  and  the  glad  young 
things  were  safely  despatched  upon  their 
ribboned  way,  when  all  the  guests  had  gone, 
when  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  felt  the  need  of  air  and 
with  the  ever-gallant  Mr.  Skee  set  forth  in 
search  of  it,  when  Dr.  Bellair  had  returned 
to  her  patients,  and  Miss  Orella  to  her  own 
parlor,  and  was  there  consoled  by  Mr.  Dyke- 
man  for  the  loss  of  her  niece,  then  Vivian 
went  to  her  room — all  hers  now,  looking 
strangely  large  and  empty — and  set  down 
among  the  drifts  of  white  tissue  paper  and 
scattered  pins — alone. 

She  sank  down  on  the  bed,  weary  and  sad 
at  heart,  for  an  hour  of  full  surrender  long 
refused;  meaning  for  once  to  let  her  grief 
have  its  full  way  with  her.  But,  just  as  on 
the  night  of  her  hurried  engagement  she  had 
been  unable  to  taste  to  the  full  the  happiness 
expected,  so  now,  surrender  as  she  might, 
she  could  not  feel  the  intensity  of  expected 
pain. 

She    was    lonely,    unquestionably.     She 


274  THE  CRUX 

faced  a  lonely  life.  Six  long,  heavy  months 
had  passed  since  she  had  made  her  de- 
cision. 

"I  am  nearly  twenty-seven  now,"  she 
thought,  resignedly.  "I  shall  never  marry," 
and  she  felt  a  little  shiver  of  the  horror  of 
last  year. 

But,  having  got  this  far  in  melancholy  con- 
templation, her  mind  refused  to  dwell  upon 
it,  but  filled  in  spite  of  her  with  visions  of 
merry  little  ones,  prancing  in  wavering  cir- 
cles, and  singing  their  more  wavering  songs. 
She  was  lonely  and  a  single  woman — but  she 
had  something  to  do ;  and  far  more  power  to 
do  it,  more  interest,  enthusiasm,  and  skill, 
than  at  the  season's  beginning. 

She  thought  of  Morton — of  what  little 
they  had  heard  since  his  hurried  departure. 
He  had  gone  farther  West;  they  had  heard 
of  him  in  San  Francisco,  they  had  heard  of 
him,  after  some  months,  in  the  Klondike  re- 
gion, then  they  had  heard  no  more.  He  did 
not  write.  It  seemed  hard  to  so  deeply  hurt 
his  aunt  for  what  was  no  fault  of  hers ;  but 
Morton  had  never  considered  her  feelings 
very  deeply,  his  bitter  anger,  his  hopeless- 


THEREAFTER  275 

ness,  his  desperate  disappointment,  blinding 
him  to  any  pain  but  his  own. 

But  her  thoughts  of  him  failed  to  rouse 
any  keen  distinctive  sorrow.  They  rambled 
backward  and  forward,  from  the  boy  who 
had  been  such  a  trouble  to  his  aunt,  such  a 
continuous  disappointment  and  mortifica- 
tion; to  the  man  whose  wooing,  looked  back' 
upon  at  this  distance,  seemed  far  less  attrac- 
tive to  the  memory  than  it  had  been  at  the 
time.  Even  his  honest  attempt  at  improve- 
ment gave  her  but  a  feeling  of  pity,  and 
though  pity  is  akin  to  love  it  is  not  always  a 
near  relation. 

From  her  unresisting  descent  into  wells  of 
pain,  which  proved  unexpectedly  shallow, 
the  girl  arose  presently  and  quietly  set  to 
work  arranging  the  room  in  its  new  capacity 
as  hers  only. 

From  black  and  bitter  agony  to  the  gray 
tastelessness  of  her  present  life  was  not  an 
exciting  change,  but  Vivian  had  more  power 
in  quiet  endurance  than  in  immediate  resist- 
ance, and  set  herself  now  in  earnest  to  fulfill 
the  tasks  before  her. 

This  was  March.     She  was  planning  an 


276  THE  CRUX 

extension  of  her  classes,  the  employment  of 
an  assistant.  Her  work  was  appreciated,  her 
school  increased.  Patiently  and  steadily  she 
faced  her  task,  and  found  a  growing  comfort 
in  it.  When  summer  came,  Dr.  Bellair  again 
begged  her  to  help  out  in  the  plan  of  a  girls' 
camp  she  was  developing. 

This  was  new  work  for  Vivian,  but  her  sea- 
son in  Mrs.  Johnson's  gymnastic  class  had 
given  her  a  fresh  interest  in  her  own  body 
and  the  use  of  it.  That  stalwart  instructress, 
a  large-boned,  calm-eyed  Swedish  woman, 
was  to  be  the  manager  of  the  camp,  and 
Vivian  this  time,  with  a  small  salary  attached, 
was  to  act  as  assistant. 

"It's  a  wonderful  thing  the  way  people 
take  to  these  camps,"  said  Dr.  Bellair. 
"They  are  springing  up  everywhere.  Mag- 
nificent for  children  and  young  people." 

"It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  me,"  observed 
Mrs.  Pettigrew.  "You  go  to  a  wild  place 
that  costs  no  rent;  you  run  a  summer  hotel 
without  any  accommodations;  you  get  a  lot 
of  parents  to  pay  handsomely  for  letting 
their  children  be  uncomfortable — and  there 
you  are," 


THEREAFTER  277 

"They  are  not  uncomfortable!"  protested 
her  friend,  a  little  ruffled.  "They  like  it. 
And  besides  liking  it,  it's  good  for  them.  It's 
precisely  the  roughing  it  that  does  them 
good." 

It  did  do  them  good;  the  group  of  young 
women  and  girls  who  went  to  the  high-lying 
mountain  lake  where  Dr.  Bellair  had  bought 
a  piece  of  wild,  rough  country  for  her  own 
future  use,  and  none  of  them  profited  by  it 
more  than  Vivian. 

She  had  been,  from  time  to  time,  to  decor- 
ous "shore  places,"  where  one  could  do  noth- 
ing but  swim  and  lie  on  the  sand;  or  to  the 
"mountains,"  those  trim,  green,  modest, 
pretty-picture  mountains,  of  which  New 
England  is  so  proud;  but  she  had  never  be- 
fore been  in  an  untouched  wilderness. 

Often  in  the  earliest  dawn  she  would  rise 
from  the  springy,  odorous  bed  of  balsam 
boughs  and  slip  out  alone  for  her  morning 
swim.  A  run  through  the  pines  to  a  little 
rocky  cape,  with  a  small  cave  she  knew,  and 
to  glide,  naked,  into  that  glass-smooth  water, 
warmer  than  the  sunless  air,  and  swim  out 
softly,  silently,  making  hardly  a  ripple,  turn 


278  THE  CRUX 

on  her  back  and  lie  there — alone  with  the 
sky — this  brought  peace  to  her  heart.  She 
felt  so  free  from  every  tie  to  earth,  so  like  a 
soul  in  space,  floating  there  with  the  clean, 
dark  water  beneath  her,  and  the  clear,  bright 
heaven  above  her ;  and  when  the  pale  glow  in 
the  east  brightened  to  saffron,  warmed  to 
rose,  burst  into  a  level  blaze  of  gold,  the  lake 
laughed  in  the  light,  and  Vivian  laughed,  too, 
in  pure  joy  of  being  alive  and  out  in  all  that 
glittering  beauty. 

She  tramped  the  hills  with  the  girls; 
picked  heaping  pails  of  wild  berries,  learned 
to  cook  in  primitive  fashion,  slept  as  she  had 
never  slept  in  her  life,  from  dark  to  dawn, 
grew  brown  and  hungry  and  cheerful. 

After  all,  twenty-seven  was  not  an  old  age. 

She  came  back  at  the  summer-end,  and  Dr. 
Bellair  clapped  her  warmly  on  the  shoulder, 
declaring,  "I'm  proud  of  you,  Vivian !  Sim- 
ply proud  of  you!" 

Her  grandmother,  after  a  judicious  em- 
brace, held  her  at  arm's  length  and  ex- 
amined her  critically. 

"I  don't  see  but  what  you've  stood  it  first 
rate,"  she  admitted.  "And  if  you  like  that 


!  -;•; 

THEREAFTER  279 

color — why,  you  certainly  are  looking  well." 

She  was  well,  and  began  her  second  year 
of  teaching  with  a  serene  spirit. 

In  all  this  time  of  slow  rebuilding  Vivian 
would  not  have  been  left  comfortless  if  mas- 
culine admiration  could  have  pleased  her. 
The  young  men  at  The  Cottonwoods,  now 
undistracted  by  Susie's  gay  presence,  concen- 
trated much  devotion  upon  Vivian,  as  did 
also  the  youths  across  the  way.  She  turned 
from  them  all,  gently,  but  with  absolute  de- 
cision. 

Among  her  most  faithful  devotees  was 
young  Percy  Watson,  who  loved  her  almost 
as  much  as  he  loved  Dr.  Hale,  and  could 
never  understand,  in  his  guileless,  boyish 
heart,  why  neither  of  them  would  talk  about 
the  other. 

They  did  not  forbid  his  talking,  however, 
and  the  earnest  youth,  sitting  in  the  quiet 
parlor  at  The  Cottonwoods,  would  free  his 
heart  to  Vivian  about  how  the  doctor  worked 
too  hard — sat  up  all  hours  to  study — didn't 
give  himself  any  rest — nor  any  fun. 

"He'll  break  down  some  time — I  tell  him 
so.  It's  not  natural  for  any  man  to  work  that 


280  THE  CRUX 

way,  and  I  don't  see  any  real  need  of  it.  He 
says  he's  working  on  a  book — some  big  medi- 
cal book,  I  suppose ;  but  what's  the  hurry?  I 
wish  you'd  have  him  over  here  oftener,  and 
make  him  amuse  himself  a  little,  Miss  Viv- 


ian." 


"Dr.  Hale  is  quite  welcome  to  come  at  any 
time — he  knows  that,"  said  she. 

Again  the  candid  Percy,  sitting  on  the  doc- 
tor's shadowy  piazza,  poured  out  his  devoted 
admiration  for  her  to  his  silent  host. 

"She's  the  finest  woman  I  ever  knew!"  the 
boy  would  say.  "She's  so  beautiful  and  so 
clever,  and  so  pleasant  to  everybody.  She's 
square — like  a  man.  And  she's  kind — like  a 
woman,  only  kinder;  a  sort  of  mother liness 
about  her.  I  don't  see  how  she  ever  lived  so 
long  without  being  married.  I'd  marry  her 
in  a  minute  if  I  was  good  enough — and  if 
she'd  have  me." 

Dr.  Hale  tousled  the  ears  of  Balzac,  the 
big,  brown  dog  whose  head  was  so  often  on 
his  knee,  and  said  nothing.  He  had  not  seen 
the  girl  since  that  night  by  the  arbor. 

Later  in  the  season  he  learned,  perforce, 
to  know  her  better,  and  to  admire  her  more. 


THEREAFTER  281 

Susie's  baby  came  with  the  new  year,  and 
brought  danger  and  anxiety.  They  hardly 
hoped  to  save  the  life  of  the  child.  The  little 
mother  was  long  unable  to  leave  her  bed. 
Since  her  aunt  was  not  there,  but  gone,  as 
Mrs.  Dykeman,  on  an  extended  tour — "part 
business  and  part  honeymoon,"  her  husband 
told  her — and  since  Mrs.  Pettigrew  now 
ruled  alone  at  The  Cottonwoods,  with  every 
evidence  of  ability  and  enjoyment,  Vivian 
promptly  installed  herself  in  the  Saunders 
home,  as  general  housekeeper  and  nurse. 

She  was  glad  then  of  her  strength,  and 
used  it  royally,  comforting  the  wretched  Jim, 
keeping  up  Susie's  spirits,  and  mothering  the 
frail  tiny  baby  with  exquisite  devotion. 

Day  after  day  the  doctor  saw  her,  sweet 
and  strong  and  patient,  leaving  her  school  to 
the  assistant,  regardless  of  losses,  showing 
the  virtues  he  admired  most  in  women. 

He  made  his  calls  as  short  as  possible ;  but 
even  so,  Vivian  could  not  but  note  how  his 
sternness  gave  way  to  brusque  good  cheer  for 
the  sick  mother,  and  to  a  lovely  gentleness 
with  the  child. 

When  that  siege  was  over  and  the  girl 


282  THE  CRUX 

returned  to  her  own  work,  she  carried  pleas- 
ant pictures  in  her  mind,  and  began  to  won- 
der, as  had  so  many  others,  why  this  man, 
who  seemed  so  fitted  to  enjoy  a  family,  had 
none. 

She  missed  his  daily  call,  and  wondered 
further  why  he  avoided  them  more  assidu- 
ously than  at  first. 


ACHIEVEMENTS  283 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ACHIEVEMENTS. 

There  are  some  folk  born  to  beauty, 

And  some  to  plenteous  gold, 
Some   who    are    proud   of    being   young, 

Some  proud  of  being  old. 

Some  who  are  glad  of  happy  love, 

Enduring,  deep  and  true, 
And  some  who  thoroughly  enjoy 

The  little  things  they  do. 

UPON  all  this  Grandma  Pettigrew 
cast  an  observant  eye,  and  medi- 
tated sagely  thereupon.  Coming  to 
a  decision,  she  first  took  a  course  of  read- 
ing in  some  of  Dr.  Bellair's  big  books,  and 
then  developed  a  series  of  perplexing  symp- 
toms, not  of  a  too  poignant  or  perilous  na- 
ture, that  took  her  to  Dr.  Hale's  office  fre- 
quently. 

"You  haven't  repudiated  Dr.  Bellair,  have 
you?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  have  never  consulted  Jane  Bellair  as  a 
physician,"  she  replied,  "though  I  esteem  her 
much  as  a  friend." 

The  old  lady's  company  was  always  wel- 


284  THE  CRUX 

come  to  him;  ne  liked  her  penetrating  eye, 
her  close-lipped,  sharp  remarks,  and  appre- 
ciated the  real  kindness  of  her  heart. 

If  he  had  known  how  closely  she  was  peer- 
ing into  the  locked  recesses  of  his  own,  and 
how  much  she  saw  there,  he  would  perhaps 
have  avoided  her  as  he  did  Vivian,  and  if  he 
had  known  further  that  this  ingenious  old 
lady,  pursuing  long  genealogical  discussions 
with  him,  had  finally  unearthed  a  mutual 
old-time  friend,  and  had  forthwith  started 
a  correspondence  with  that  friend,  hased  on 
this  common  acquaintance  in  Carston,  he 
might  have  left  that  city. 

The  old-time  friend,  baited  by  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew's  innocent  comment  on  Dr.  Hale's  per- 
sistence in  single  blessedness,  poured  forth 
what  she  knew  of  the  cause  with  no  more 
embellishment  than  time  is  sure  to  give. 

"I  know  why  he  won't  marry,"  wrote  she. 
"He  had  reason  good  to  begin  with,  but  I 
never  dreamed  he'd  be  obstinate  enough  to 
keep  it  up  sixteen  years.  When  he  was  a 
boy  in  college  here  I  knew  him  well — he  was 
a  splendid  fellow,  one  of  the  very  finest.  But 
he  fell  desperately  in  love  with  that  beautiful 


ACHIEVEMENTS  ^285 

Mrs.  James — don't  you  remember  about 
her?  She  married  a  St.  Cloud  later,  and  he 
left  her,  I  think.  She  was  as  lovely  as  a 
cameo — and  as  hard  and  flat.  That  woman 
was  the  saintliest  thing  that  ever  breathed. 
She  wouldn't  live  with  her  husband  because 
he  had  done  something  wrong;  she  wouldn't 
get  a  divorce,  nor  let  him,  because  that  was 
wicked — and  she  always  had  a  string  of  boys 
round  her,  and  talked  about  the  moral  in- 
fluence she  had  on  them. 

"Young  Hale  worshipped  her — simply 
worshipped  her — and  she  let  him.  She  let 
them  all.  She  had  that  much  that  was  god- 
like about  her — she  loved  incense.  You  need 
not  ask  for  particulars.  She  was  far  too 
'particular'  for  that.  But  one  light-headed 
chap  went  and  drowned  himself — that  was 
all  hushed  up,  of  course,  but  some  of  us  felt 
pretty  sure  why.  He  was  a  half-brother  to 
Dick  Hale,  and  Dick  was  awfully  fond  of 
him.  Then  he  turned  hard  and  hateful  all 
at  once — used  to  talk  horrid  about  women. 
He  kept  straight  enough — that's  easy  for  a 
mysogynist,  and  studying  medicine  didn't 
help  him  any — doctors  and  ministers  know 


286  THE  CRUX 

too  mucli  about  women.  So  there  you  are. 
But  I'm  astonished  to  hear  he's  never  gotten 
over  it;  he  always  was  obstinate — it's  his 
only  fault.  They  say  he  swore  never  to 
marry — if  he  did,  that  accounts.  Do  give 
my  regards  if  you  see  him  again." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  considered  long  and  deep- 
ly over  this  information,  as  she  slowly  pro- 
duced a  jersey  striped  with  Roman  vivid- 
ness. It  was  noticeable  in  this  new  life  in 
Carston  that  Mrs.  Pettigrew's  knitted  jack- 
ets had  grown  steadily  brighter  in  hue  from 
month  to  month.  Whereas,  in  Bainville, 
purple  and  brown  were  the  high  lights,  and 
black,  slate  and  navy  blue  the  main  colors; 
now  her  worsteds  were  as  a  painter's  palette, 
and  the  result  not  only  cheered,  but  bade 
fair  to  inebriate. 

"A  pig-headed  man,"  she  said  to  herself, 
as  her  needle  prodded  steadily  in  and  out; 
"a  pig-headed  man,  with  a  pig-headedness  of 
sixteen  years'  standing.  His  hair  must  'a 
turned  gray  from  the  strain  of  it.  And 
there's  Vivian,  biddin'  fair  to  be  an  old  maid 
after  all.  What  on  earth!"  She  appeared 
to  have  forgotten  that  marriages  are  made 


ACHIEVEMENTS  287 

in  heaven,  or  to  disregard  that  saying.  "The 
Lord  helps  those  that  help  themselves,"  was 
one  of  her  favorite  mottoes.  "And  much 
more  those  that  help  other  people  I"  she  used 
to  add. 

Flitting  in  and  out  of  Dr.  Hale's  at  all 
hours,  she  noted  that  he  had  a  fondness  for 
music,  with  a  phenomenal  incapacity  to  pro- 
duce any.  He  encouraged  his  boys  to  play 
on  any  and  every  instrument  the  town  af- 
forded, and  to  sing,  whether  they  could  or 
not;  and  seemed  never  to  weary  of  their  at- 
tempts, though  far  from  satisfied  with  the 
product. 

"Huh!"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew. 

Vivian  could  play,  "Well  enough  to  know 
better,"  she  said,  and  seldom  touched  the 
piano.  She  had  a  deep,  full,  contralto  voice, 
and  a  fair  degree  of  training.  But  she  would 
never  make  music  unless  she  felt  like  it — and 
in  this  busy  life,  with  so  many  people  about 
her,  she  had  always  refused. 

Grandma  meditated. 

She  selected  an  evening  when  most  of  the 
boarders  were  out  at  some  entertainment, 
and  selfishly  begged  Vivian  to  stay  at  home 


288  THE  CRUX 

with  her — said  she  was  feeling  Hadly  and 
wanted  company.  Grandma  so  seldom 
wanted  anything  that  Vivian  readily  acqui- 
esced; in  fact,  she  was  quite  worried  about 
her,  and  asked  Dr.  Bellair  if  she  thought 
anything  was  the  matter. 

"She  has  seemed  more  quiet  lately,"  said 
that  astute  lady,  "and  IVe  noticed  her  going 
in  to  Dr.  Hale's  during  office  hours.  But 
perhaps  it's  only  to  visit  with  him." 

"Are  you  in  any  pain,  Grandma?"  asked 
the  girl,  affectionately.  "You're  not  sick, 
are  you?" 

"O,  no — I'm  not  sick,"  said  the  old  lady, 
stoutly.  "I'm  just — well,  I  felt  sort  of  lone- 
some to-night — perhaps  I'm  homesick." 

As  she  had  never  shown  the  faintest  sign 
of  any  feeling  for  their  deserted  home,  ex- 
cept caustic  criticism  and  unfavorable  com- 
parison, Vivian  rather  questioned  this  the- 
ory, but  she  began  to  think  there  was  some- 
thing in  it  when  her  grandmother,  sitting  by 
the  window  in  the  spring  twilight,  began  to 
talk  of  how  this  time  of  year  always  made 
her  think  of  her  girlhood. 

"Time  for  the  March  peepers  at  home. 


'ACHIEVEMENTS  289 

It's  early  here,  and  no  peepers  anywhere 
that  I've  heard.  'Bout  this  time  we'd  be 
going  to  evening  meeting.  Seems  as  if  I 
could  hear  that  little  old  organ — and  the 
singing!" 

"Hadn't  I  better  shut  that  window," 
asked  Vivian.  "Won't  you  get  cold?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  her  grandmother, 
promptly.  "I'm  plenty  warm — I've  got  this 
little  shawl  around  me.  And  it's  so  soft  and 
pleasant  out." 

It  was  soft  and  pleasant,  a  delicious  May- 
like  night  in  March,  full  of  spring  scents  and 
hints  of  coming  flowers.  On  the  dark  piazza 
across  the  way  she  could  make  out  a  still 
figure  sitting  alone,  and  the  thump  of  Bal- 
zac's heel  as  he  struggled  with  his  intimate 
enemies  told  her  who  it  was. 

"Come  Ye  Disconsolate,"  she  began  to 
hum,  most  erroneously.  "How  does  that  go, 
Vivian?  I  was  always  fond  of  it,  even  if  I 
can't  sing  any  more'n  a  peacock." 

Vivian  hummed  it  and  gave  the  words  in 
a  low  voice. 

"That's  good!"  said  the  old  lady.  "I  de- 
clare, I'm  kinder  hungry  for  some  of  those 


290  THE  CRUX 

old  hymns.  I  wish  you'd  play  me  some  of 
'em,  Vivian." 

So  Vivian,  glad  to  please  her,  woke  the 
yellow  keys  to  softer  music  than  they  were 
accustomed  to,  and  presently  her  rich,  low 
voice,  sure,  easy,  full  of  quiet  feeling,  flowed 
out  on  the  soft  night  air. 

Grandma  was  not  long  content  with  the 
hymns.  "I  want  some  of  those  old-fashioned 
songs — you  used  to  know  a  lot  of  'em.  Can't 
you  do  that  'Kerry  Dance'  of  Molloy's,  and 
'Twickenham  Ferry' — and  'Lauriger  Ho- 
ratius?'  " 

Vivian  gave  her  those,  and  many  another, 
Scotch  ballads,  English  songs  and  German 
Lieder — glad  to  please  her  grandmother  so 
easily,  and  quite  unconscious  of  a  dark  figure 
which  had  crossed  the  street  and  come  silent- 
ly to  sit  on  the  farthest  corner  of  their 
piazza. 

Grandma,  meanwhile,  watched  him,  and 
Vivian  as  well,  and  then,  with  the  most  un- 
suspected suddenness,  took  to  her  bed. 
Sciatica,  she  said.  An  intermittent  pain 
that  came  upon  her  so  suddenly  she  couldn't 
stand  up.  She  felt  much  better  lying  down, 


ACHIEVEMENTS  291 

And  Dr.  Hale  must  attend  her  unceas- 
ingly. 

This  unlocked  for  overthrow  of  the  phe- 
nomenally active  old  lady  was  a  great  blow 
to  Mr.  Skee;  he  showed  real  concern  and 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  see  her. 

"Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Pettigrew.  "It's 
nothing  catching." 

She  lay,  high-pillowed,  as  stiff  and  well 
arranged  as  a  Knight  Templar  on  a  tomb- 
stone, arrayed  for  the  occasion  in  a  most 
decorative  little  dressing  sack  and  ribbony 
night-cap. 

"Why,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Skee,  "it's 
highly  becomin'  to  you  to  be  sick.  It  leads 
me  to  hope  it's  nothin'  serious." 

She  regarded  him  enigmatically.  "Is  Dr. 
Hale  out  there,  or  Vivian?"  she  inquired  in 
a  low  voice. 

"No,  ma'am — they  ain't,"  he  replied,  after 
a  glance  in  the  next  room. 

Then  he  bent  a  penetrating  eye  upon  her. 
She  met  it  unflinchingly,  but  as  his  smile 
appeared  and  grew,  its  limitless  widening 
spread  contagion,  and  her  calm  front  was 
broken. 


292  THE  CRUX 

"Elmer  Skee,"  said  she,  with  sudden  fury, 
"you  hold  your  tongue!" 

"Ma'am!"  he  replied,  "I  have  said  noth- 
in' — and  I  don't  intend  to.  But  if  the 
throne  of  Europe  was  occupied  by  you, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew,  we  would  have  a  better 
managed  world." 

He  proved  a  most  agreeable  and  steady 
visitor  during  this  period  of  confinement, 
and  gave  her  full  accounts  of  all  that  went 
on  outside,  with  occasional  irrelevant  bursts 
of  merriment  which  no  rebuke  from  Mrs. 
Pettigrew  seemed  wholly  to  check. 

He  regaled  her  with  accounts  of  his  con- 
tinuous consultations  with  Mrs.  St.  Cloud, 
and  the  wisdom  and  good  taste  with  which 
she  invariably  advised  him. 

"Don't  you  admire  a  Platonic  Friendship, 
Mrs.  Pettigrew?" 

"I  do  not!"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply. 
"And  what's  more  I  don't  believe  you  do." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  he  answered,  swaying 
backward  and  forward  on  the  hind  legs  of 
his  chair,  "there  are  moments  when  I  con- 
fess it  looks  improbable." 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  cocked  her  head  on  one 


ACHIEVEMENTS  293 

side  and  turned  a  gimlet  eye  upon  him. 
"Look  here,  Elmer  Skee,"  she  said  sud- 
denly, "how  much  money  have  you  really 
got?" 

He  brought  down  his  chair  on  four  legs 
and  regarded  her  for  a  few  moments,  his 
smile  widening  slowly.  "Well,  ma'am,  if  I 
live  through  the  necessary  expenses  involved 
on  my  present  undertaking,  I  shall  have 
about  two  thousand  a  year — if  rents  are 
steady." 

"Which  I  judge  you  do  not  wish  to  be 
known?" 

"If  there's  one  thing  more  than  another 
I  have  always  admired  in  you,  ma'am,  it  is 
the  excellence  of  your  judgment.  In  it  I 
have  absolute  confidence." 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud  had  some  time  since  sum- 
moned Dr.  Hale  to  her  side  for  a  severe 
headache,  but  he  had  merely  sent  word  that 
his  time  was  fully  occupied,  and  recom- 
mended Dr.  Bellair. 

Now,  observing  Mrs.  Pettigrew's  tactics, 
the  fair  invalid  resolved  to  take  the  bull  by 
the  horns  and  go  herself  to  his  office.  She 
found  him  easily  enough.  He  lifted  his  eyes 


294  THE  CRUX 

as  she  entered,  rose  and  stood  with  folded 
arms  regarding  her  silently.  The  tall,  heavy 
figure,  the  full  beard,  the  glasses,  confused 
even  her  excellent  memory.  After  all  it  was 
many  years  since  they  had  met,  and  he  had 
been  but  one  of  a  multitude. 

She  was  all  sweetness  and  gentle  apology 
for  forcing  herself  upon  him,  but  really 
she  had  a  little  prejudice  against  women 
doctors — his  reputation  was  so  great — he 
was  so  temptingly  near — she  was  in  such 
pain — she  had  such  perfect  confidence  in 
him— 

He  sat  down  quietly  and  listened,  watch- 
ing her  from  under  his  bent  brows.  Her 
eyes  were  dropped,  her  voice  very  weak  and 
appealing ;  her  words  most  perfectly  chosen. 

"I  have  told  you,"  he  said  at  length,  "that 
I  never  treat  women  for  their  petty  ail- 
ments, if  I  can  avoid  it." 

She  shook  her  head  in  grieved  acceptance, 
and  lifted  large  eyes  for  one  of  those 
penetrating  sympathetic  glances  so  fre- 
quently successful. 

"How  you  must  have  suffered!"  she  said. 

"I  have,"  he  replied  grimly.    "I  have  suf- 


'ACHIEVEMENTS  295 

fered  a  long  time  from  having  my  eyes 
opened  too  suddenly  to  the  brainless  cruelty 
of  women,  Mrs.  James." 

She  looked  at  him  again,  searchingly, 
and  gave  a  little  cry.  "Dick  Hale!"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  Dick  Hale.  Brother  to  poor  little 
Joe  Medway,  whose  foolish  young  heart 
you  broke,  among  others;  whose  death  you 
are  responsible  for." 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  widening  wet 
eyes.  "Ah!  If  you  only  knew  how  I,  too, 
have  suffered  over  that!"  she  said.  "I  was 
scarce  more  than  a  girl  myself,  then.  I  was 
careless,  not  heartless.  No  one  knew  what 
pain  I  was  bearing,  then.  I  liked  the  ad- 
miration of  those  nice  boys — I  never  realized 
any  of  them  would  take  it  seriously.  That 
has  been  a  heavy  shadow  on  my  life,  Dr. 
Hale — the  fear  that  I  was  the  thoughtless 
cause  of  that  terrible  thing.  And  you  have 
never  forgiven  me.  I  do  not  wonder." 

He  was  looking  at  her  in  grim  silence 
again,  wishing  he  had  not  spoken. 

"So  that  is  why  you  have  never  been  to 
The  Cottonwoods  since  I  came,"  she  pur- 


296  THE  CRUX 

sued.    "And  I  am  responsible  for  all  your 
loneliness.    O,  how  dreadful  1" 

Again  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"No,  madam,  you  mistake.  You  were  re- 
sponsible for  my  brother's  death,  and  for  a 
bitter  awakening  on  my  part,  but  you  are 
in  no  way  responsible  for  my  attitude  since. 
That  is  wholly  due  to  myself.  Allow  me 
again  to  recommend  Dr.  Jane  Bellair,  an 
excellent  physician  and  even  more  acces- 
sible." 

He  held  the  door  for  her,  and  she  went 
out,  not  wholly  dissatisfied  with  her  visit. 
She  would  have  been  far  more  displeased 
could  she  have  followed  his  thoughts  after- 
ward. 

"What  a  Consummate  Ass  I  have  been  all 
my  life!"  he  was  meditating.  "Because  I 
met  this  particular  type  of  sex  parasite,  to 
deliberately  go  sour — and  forego  all  chance 
of  happiness.  Like  a  silly  girl.  A  fool  girl 
who  says,  'I  will  never  marry!'  just  because 
of  some  quarrel  *  *  *  But  the  girl  never 
keeps  her  word.  A  man  must." 

The  days  were  long  to  Vivian  now,  and 
dragged  a  little,  for  all  her  industry. 


ACHIEVEMENTS  297 

Mrs.  St.  Cloud  tried  to  revive  their  former 
intimacy,  but  the  girl  could  not  renew  it  on 
the  same  basis.  She,  too,  had  sympathized 
with  Mr.  Dykeman,  and  now  sympathized 
somewhat  with  Mr.  Skee.  But  since  that 
worthy  man  still  volubly  discoursed  on  Pla- 
tonism,  and  his  fair  friend  openly  agreed 
in  this  view,  there  seemed  no  real  ground  for 
distress. 

Mrs.  Pettigrew  remained  ailing  and 
rather  captious.  She  had  a  telephone  put 
at  her  bedside,  and  ran  her  household  affairs 
efficiently,  with  Vivian  as  lieutenant,  and  the 
ever-faithful  Jeanne  to  uphold  the  honor  of 
the  cuisine.  Also  she  could  consult  her 
physician,  and  demanded  his  presence  at  all 
hours. 

He  openly  ignored  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  now, 
who  met  his  rude  treatment  with  secret,  un- 
complaining patience. 

Vivian  spoke  of  this.  "I  do  not  see  why 
he  need  be  so  rude,  Grandma.  He  may  hate 
women,  but  I  don't  see  why  he  should  treat 
her  so  shamefully." 

"Well,  I  do,"  replied  the  invalid,  "and 
what's  more  I'm  going  to  show  you;  I've 


298  THE  CRUX 

always  disliked  that  woman,  and  now  I 
know  why.  I'd  turn  her  out  of  the  house 
if  it  wasn't  for  Elmer  Skee.  That  man's  as 
good  as  gold  under  all  his  foolishness,  and 
if  he  can  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  that 
meringue  he's  welcome.  Dr.  Hale  doesn't 
hate  women,  child,  but  a  woman  broke  his 
heart  once — and  then  he  made  an  idiot  of 
himself  by  vowing  never  to  marry." 

She  showed  her  friend's  letter,  and  Vivian 
read  it  with  rising  color.  "O,  Grandma! 
Why  that's  worse  than  I  ever  thought — even 
after  what  Dr.  Bellair  told  us.  And  it  was 
his  brother!  No  wonder  he's  so  fond  of 
boys.  He  tries  to  warn  them,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  he's  really 
got  over  his  grouch;  and  he's  in  love — but 
tied  down  by  that  foolish  oath,  poor  man." 

"Is  he,  Grandma?  How  do  you  know? 
With  whom?" 

"You  dear,  blind  child!"  said  the  old  lady, 
"with  you,  of  course.  Has  been  ever  since 


we  came." 


The  girl  sat  silent,  a  strange  feeling  of  joy 
rising  in  her  heart,  as  she  reviewed  the 
events  of  the  last  two  years.  So  that  was 


ACHIEVEMENTS  299 

why  he  would  not  stay  that  night.  And  that 
was  why.  "No  wonder  he  wouldn't  come 
here!"  she  said  at  length.  "It's  on  account 
of  that  woman.  But  why  did  he  change?" 

"Because  she  went  over  there  to  see  him. 
He  wouldn't  come  to  her.  I  heard  her 
'phone  to  him  one  evening."  The  old  lady 
chuckled.  "So  she  marched  herself  over 
there — I  saw  her,  and  I  guess  she  got  her 
needin's.  She  didn't  stay  long.  And  his 
light  burned  till  morning." 

"Do  you  think  he  cares  for  her,  still?" 
"Cares  for  her!"  The  old  lady  fairly 
snorted  her  derision.  "He  can't  bear  the 
sight  of  her — treats  her  as  if  she  wasn't 
there.  No,  indeed.  If  he  did  she'd  have 
him  fast  enough,  now.  Well!  I  suppose 
he'll  repent  of  that  foolishness  of  his  all  the 
days  of  his  life — and  stick  it  out!  Poor 


man." 


Mrs.  Pettigrew  sighed,  and  Vivian  echoed 
the  sigh.  She  began  to  observe  Dr.  Hale  with 
new  eyes ;  to  study  little  matters  of  tone  and 
manner — and  could  not  deny  her  grand- 
mother's statement.  Nor  would  she  admit 
it — yet. 


300  THE  CRUX 

The  old  lady  seemed  weaker  and  more 
irritable,  but  positively  forbade  any  word  of 
this  being  sent  to  her  family. 

"There's  nothing  on  earth  ails  me,"  she 
said.  "Dr.  Hale  says  there's  not  a  thing  the 
matter  that  he  can  see — that  if  I'd  only  eat 
more  I'd  get  stronger.  I'll  be  all  right  soon, 
my  dear.  I'll  get  my  appetite  and  get  well, 
I  have  faith  to  believe." 

She  insisted  on  his  coming  over  in  the 
evening,  when  not  too  busy,  and  staying  till 
she  dropped  asleep,  and  he  seemed  strangely 
willing  to  humor  her;  sitting  for  hours  in 
the  quiet  parlor,  while  Vivian  played  softly, 
and  sang  her  low-toned  hymns. 

So  sitting,  one  still  evening,  when  for 
some  time  no  fretful  "not  so  loud"  had  come 
from  the  next  room,  he  turned  suddenly  to 
Vivian  and  asked,  almost  roughly — "Do 
you  hold  a  promise  binding? — an  oath,  a 
vow — to  oneself?" 

She  met  his  eyes,  saw  the  deep  pain  there, 
the  long  combat,  the  irrepressible  hope  and 
longing. 

"Did  you  swear  to  keep  your  oath  secret?" 
she  asked. 


ACHIEVEMENTS  301 

"Why,  no,"  he  said,  "I  did  not.  I  will  tell 
you.  I  did  not  swear  never  to  tell  a  woman 
I  loved  her.  I  never  dreamed  I  should  love 
again.  Vivian,  I  was  fool  enough  to  love  a 
shallow,  cruel  woman,  once,  and  nearly 
broke  my  heart  in  consequence.  That  was 
long  years  ago.  I  have  never  cared  for  a 
woman  since — till  I  met  you.  And  now  I 
must  pay  double  for  that  boy  folly." 

He  came  to  her  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said,  his  tense  grip  hurt- 
ing her.  "I  shall  love  you  as  long  as  I 
live — day  and  night — forever!  You  shall 
know  that  at  any  rate!" 

She  could  not  raise  her  eyes.  [A!  rich 
bright  color  rose  to  the  soft  border  of  her 
hair.  He  caught  her  face  in  his  hands  and 
made  her  look  at  him;  saw  those  dark,  bril- 
liant eyes  softened,  tear-filled,  asking,  and 
turned  sharply  away  with  a  muffled  cry. 

"I  have  taken  a  solemn  oath,"  he  said  in 
a  strained,  hard  voice,  "never  to  ask  a 
woman  to  marry  me." 

He  heard  a  little  gasping  laugh,  and 
turned  upon  her.  She  stood  there  smiling, 
her  hands  reached  out  to  him. 


302  THE  CRUX 

"You  don't  have  to,"  she  said. 

•  ••••• 

A  long  time  later,  upon  their  happy  still- 
ness broke  a  faint  voice  from  the  other  room : 

"Vivian,  I  think  if  you'd  bring  me  some 
bread  and  butter — and  a  cup  of  tea — and 
some  cold  beef  and  a  piece  of  pie — I  could 
eat  it." 

•  ••••• 
Upon  the  rapid  and  complete  recovery  of 

her  grandmother's  health,  and  the  announce- 
ment of  Vivian's  engagement,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lane  decided  to  make  a  visit  to  their  distant 
mother  and  daughter,  hoping  as  well  that 
Mr.  Lane's  cough  might  be  better  for  a  visit 
in  that  altitude.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dykeman 
also  sent  word  of  their  immediate  return. 

Jeanne,  using  subtle  powers  of  sugges- 
tion, caused  Mrs.  Pettigrew  to  decide  upon 
giving  a  dinner,  in  honor  of  these  events. 
There  was  the  betrothed  couple,  there  were 
the  honored  guests;  there  were  Jimmie  and 
Susie,  with  or  without  the  baby;  there  were 
the  Dykemans;  there  was  Dr.  Bellair,  of 
course ;  there  was  Mr.  Skee,  an  even  number. 

"I'm  sorry  to  spoil  that  table,  but  I've  got 


'ACHIEVEMENTS  303 

to  take  in  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"O9  Grandma!  Why!  It'll  spoil  it  for 
Dick." 

"Huh!"  said  her  grandmother.  "He's  so 
happy  you  couldn't  spoil  it  with  a  mummy. 
If  I  don't  ask  her  it'll  spoil  it  for  Mr.  Skee." 

So  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  made  an  eleventh  at  the 
feast,  and  neither  Mr.  Dykeman  nor  Vivian 
could  find  it  in  their  happy  hearts  to  care. 

Mr.  Skee  arose,  looking  unusually  tall 
and  shapely  in  immaculate  every-day  dress, 
his  well-brushed  hair  curling  vigorously 
around  the  little  bald  spots;  his  smile  wide 
and  benevolent. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  both  Domestic 
and  Foreign,  Friends  and  Fellowtownsmen 
and  Women — Ladies,  God  Bless  'em;  also 
Children,  if  any:  I  feel  friendly  enough  to- 
night to  include  the  beasts  of  the  fields — but 
such  would  be  inappropriate  at  this  convivial 
board — among  these  convivial  boarders. 

"This  is  an  occasion  of  great  rejoicing. 
We  have  many  things  to  rejoice  over, 
both  great  and  small.  We  have  our  healths; 
all  of  us,  apparently.  We  are  experiencing 
the  joys  of  reunion — in  the  matter  of  visit- 


304  THE  CRUX 

ing  parents  that  is,  and  long  absent 
daughters. 

"We  have  also  the  Return  of  the  Native, 
in  the  shape  of  my  old  friend  Andy — now 
become  a  Benedict — and  seeming  to  enjoy 
it.  About  this  same  Andy  I  have  a  piece  of 
news  to  give  you  which  will  cause  you 
astonishment  and  gratification,  but  which 
involves  me  in  a  profuse  apology — a  most 
sincere  and  general  apology. 

"You  know  how  a  year  or  more  ago  it  was 
put  about  in  this  town  that  Andrew  Dyke- 
man  was  a  ruined  man?"  Mrs.  St.  Cloud 
darted  a  swift  glance  at  Mr.  Dykeman,  but 
his  eyes  rested  calmly  on  his  wife;  then  at 
Mr.  Skee — but  he  was  pursuing  his  remorse- 
ful way. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  blame  my  friend  Andy 
for  his  reticence — but  he  certainly  did  ex- 
hibit reticence  on  this  occasion — to  beat  the 
band!  He  never  contradicted  this  rumor — 
not  once.  He  just  went  about  looking  kind 
o'  down  in  the  mouth  for  some  reason  or 
other,  and  when  for  the  sake  o'  Auld  Lang 
Syne  I  offered  him  a  job  in  my  office — - 
the  cuss  took  it!  I  won't  call  this  de- 


ACHIEVEMENTS  305 

ceitful,  but  it  sure  was  reticent  to  a  degree. 

"Well,  Ladies — and  Gentlemen — the  best 
of  us  are  liable  to  mistakes,  and  I  have  to 
admit — I  am  glad  to  humble  myself  and 
make  this  public  admission — I  was  entirely 
in  error  in  this  matter. 

"It  wasn't  so.  There  was  nothing  in  it. 
It  was  rumor,  pure  and  simple.  Andy 
Dykeman  never  lost  no  mine,  it  appears;  or 
else  he  had  another  up  his  sleeve  concealed 
from  his  best  friends.  Anyhow,  the  facts 
are  these;  not  only  that  A.  Dykeman  as  he 
sits  before  you  is  a  prosperous  and  wealthy 
citizen,  but  that  he  has  been,  for  these  ten 
years  back,  and  we  were  all  misled  by  a  mix- 
ture of  rumor  and  reticence.  If  he  has  con- 
cealed these  facts  from  the  wife  of  his  bosom 
I  submit  that  that  is  carrying  reticence  too 
far!"  Again  Mrs.  St.  Cloud  sent  a  swift 
glance  at  the  reticent  one,  and  again  caught 
only  his  tender  apologetic  look  toward  his 
wife,  and  her  utter  amazement. 

Mr.  Dykeman  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  make  no  apologies  for  interrupting  my 
friend,"  he  said.  "It  is  necessary  at  times. 
He  at  least  can  never  be  accused  of  reticence. 


306  THE  CRUX 

Neither  do  I  make  apologies  for  letting 
rumor  take  its  course — a  course  often  inter- 
esting to  observe.  But  I  do  apologize — in 
this  heartfelt  and  public  manner,  to  my  wife, 
for  marrying  her  under  false  pretenses.  But 
any  of  you  gentlemen  who  have  ever  had  any 
experience  in  the  attitude  of,"  he  hesitated 
mercifully,  and  said,  "the  World,  toward  a 
man  with  money,  may  understand  what  it 
meant  to  me,  after  many  years  of  bachelor- 
hood, to  find  a  heart  that  not  only  loved  me 
for  myself  alone,  but  absolutely  loved  me 
better  because  I'd  lost  my  money — or  she 
thought  I  had.  I  have  hated  to  break  the 
charm.  But  now  my  unreticent  friend  here 
has  stated  the  facts,  and  I  make  my  con- 
fession. Will  you  forgive  me,  Orella?" 

"Speech!  Speech!"  cried  Mr.  Skee.  But 
Mrs.  Dykeman  could  not  be  persuaded  to  do 
anything  but  blush  and  smile  and  squeeze 
her  husband's  hand  under  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Skee  arose  once  more. 

"This  revelation  being  accomplished,"  he 
continued  cheerfully;  "and  no  one  any  the 
worse  for  it,  as  I  see,"  he  was  not  looking 
in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,  whose 


'ACHIEVEMENTS  307 

slippered  foot  beat  softly  under  the  table, 
though  her  face  wore  its  usual  sweet  expres- 
sion, possibly  a  trifle  strained;  "I  now  pro- 
ceed to  a  proclamation  of  that  happy  event 
to  celeb? ate  which  we  are  here  gathered  to- 
gether. I  allude  to  the  Betrothal  of  Our 
Esteemed  Friend,  Dr.  Richard  Hale,  and 
the  Fairest  of  the  Fair!  Regarding  the 
Fair,  we  think  he  has  chosen  well.  But  re- 
garding Dick  Hale,  his  good  fortune  is  so 
clear,  so  evidently  undeserved,  and  his  pride 
and  enjoyment  thereof  so  ostentatious, 
as  to  leave  us  some  leeway  to  make  re- 
marks. 

"Natural  remarks,  irresistible  remarks,  as 
you  might  say,  and  not  intended  to  be 
acrimonious.  Namely,  such  as  these:  It's  a 
long  lane  that  has  no  turning ;  There's  many 
a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip ;  The  worm 
will  turn ;  The  pitcher  that  goes  too  often  to 
the  well  gets  broken  at  last;  Better  Late 
than  Never.  And  so  on  and  so  forth.  Any 
other  gentleman  like  to  make  remarks  on 
this  topic?" 

Dr.  Hale  rose,  towering  to  his  feet. 

"I  think  I'd  better  make  them,"  he  said. 


308  THE  CRUX 

"No  one  else  could  so  fully,  so  heartily,  with 
such  perfect  knowledge  point  out  how  many 
kinds  of  a  fool  I've  been  for  all  these  years. 
And  yet  of  them  all  there  are  only  two  that 
I  regret — this  last  two  in  which  if  I  had  been 
wiser,  perhaps  I  might  have  found  my  hap- 
piness sooner.     A:s  that  cannot  be  proven, 
however,  I  will  content  myself  with  the  gen- 
eral   acknowledgment    that    Bachelors    are 
Misguided  Bats,  I  myself  having  long  been 
the  worst  instance;  women,  in  general,  are 
to  be  loved  and  honored;  and  that  I  am 
proud  and  glad  to  accept  your  congratula- 
tions   because    the    sweetest    and    noblest 
woman  in  the  world  has  honored  me  with 
her  love." 

"I  never  dreamed  you  could  put  so  many 
words  together,  Doc — and  really  make 
sense!"  said  Mr.  Skee,  genially,  as  he  rose 
once  more.  "You  certainly  show  a  proper 
spirit  at  last,  and  all  is  forgiven.  But  now, 
my  friends ;  now  if  your  attention  is  not  ex- 
hausted, I  have  yet  another  Event  to  con- 
fide to  you. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lane  wore  an  aspect  of 
polite  interest.  Susie  and  Jim  looked  at  each 


ACHIEVEMENTS  309 

other  with  a  sad  but  resigned  expression. 
So  did  Mrs.  Dykeman  and  her  husband. 
Vivian's  hand  was  in  her  lover's  and  she 
could  not  look  unhappy,  but  they,  too,  de- 
precated this  last  announcement,  only  too 
well  anticipated.  Only  Mrs.  St.  Cloud,  her 
fair  face  bowed  in  gentle  confusion,  showed 
anticipating  pleasure. 

Mr.  Skee  waved  his  hand  toward  her  with 
a  large  and  graceful  gesture. 

"You  must  all  of  you  have  noticed  the 
amount  of  Platonic  Friendship  which  has 
been  going  on  for  some  time  between  my 
undeserving  self  and  this  lovely  lady  here. 
Among  so  many  lovely  ladies  perhaps  I'd 
better  specify  that  I  refer  to  the  one  on  my 
left. 

"What  she  has  been  to  me,  in  my  lonely 
old  age,  none  of  you  perhaps  realize." 
He  wore  an  expression  as  of  one  long 
exiled,  knowing  no  one  who  could  speak  his 
language. 

"She  has  been  my  guide,  counsellor  and 
friend;  she  has  assisted  me  with  advice  most 
wise  and  judicious;  she  has  not  interfered 
with  my  habits,  but  has  allowed  me  to  en- 


310  THE  CRUX 

joy  life  in  my  own  way,  with  the  added  at- 
traction of  her  companionship. 

"Now,  I  dare  say,  there  may  have  been 
some  of  you  who  have  questioned  my  asser- 
tion that  this  friendship  was  purely  Platonic. 
Perhaps  even  the  lady  herself,  knowing  the 
heart  of  man,  may  have  doubted  if  my  feel- 
ing toward  her  was  really  friendship." 

Mr.  Skee  turned  his  head  a  little  to  one 
side  and  regarded  her  with  a  tender  inquir- 
ing smile. 

To  this  she  responded  sweetly:  "Why  no, 
Mr.  Skee,  of  course,  I  believed  what  you 
said." 

"There,  now,"  said  he,  admiringly. 
"What  is  so  noble  as  the  soul  of  woman?  It 
is  to  this  noble  soul  in  particular,  and  to  all 
my  friends  here  in  general,  that  I  now  con- 
fide the  crowning  glory  of  a  long  and  check- 
ered career,  namely,  and  to  wit,  that  I  am 
engaged  to  be  married  to  that  Peerless 
Lady,  Mrs.  Servilla  Pettigrew,  of  whose  re- 
markable capacities  and  achievements  I  can 
never  sufficiently  express  my  admiration." 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  table.  Mr.  Skee 
sat  down  smiling,  evidently  in  cheerful  ex- 


ACHIEVEMENTS  311 

pectation  of  congratulations.  Mrs.  Petti- 
grew  wore  an  alert  expression,  as  of  a  skilled 
fencer  preparing  to  turn  any  offered  thrusts. 
Mrs.  St.  Cloud  seemed  to  be  struggling  with 
some  emotion,  which  shook  her  usual  sweet 
serenity.  The  others,  too,  were  visibly 
affected,  and  not  quick  to  respond. 

Then  did  Mr.  Saunders  arise  with  real 
good  nature  and  ever-ready  wit;  and  pour 
forth  good-humored  nonsense  with  con- 
gratulations all  around,  till  a  pleasant  at- 
mosphere was  established,  in  which  Mrs.  St.! 
Cloud  could  so  far  recover  as  to  say  many1 
proper  and  pretty  things;  sadly  adding1 
that  she  regretted  her  imminent  return  to 
the  East  would  end  so  many  pleasant 
friendships. 


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BOOKS  BY  CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 

"THE  YELLOW  WALLPAPER" 

Worthy  of  a  place  beside  some  of  the  weird  master- 
pieces of  Hawthorne  and  Poe.  — Literature. 

As  a  short  story  it  stands  among  the  most  powerful 
produced  in  America.  — Chicago  News. 

By  mail  of  Charlton  Co.,  $0.50. 


"HUMAN  WORK" 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman  has  added  a  third  to  her 
great  trilogy  of  books  on  economic  subjects  as  they 
affect  our  daily  life,  particularly  in  the  home.  Mrs. 
Gilman  is  by  far  the  most  brilliant  woman  writer  of  our 
day,  and  this  new  volume,  which  she  calls  "Human 
Work,"  is  a  glorification  of  labor. 

— New  Orleans  Picayune. 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman  has  been  writing  a  new 
book,  entitled  "Human  Work."  It  is  the  best  thing 
that  Mrs.  Gilman  has  done,  and  it  is  meant  to  focus 
all  of  her  previous  work,  so  to  speak. 

—Tribune,  Chicago. 

In  her  latest  volume,  "Human  Work/*  Charlotte 
Perkins  Gilman  places  herself  among  the  foremost 
students  and  elucidators  of  the  problem  of  social 
economics.  — San  Francisco  Star. 

It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  value  of  the  in- 
sistence on  the  social  aspect  of  human  affairs  as  Mrs. 
Gilman  has  outlined  it.  — Public  Opinion. 

By  mail  of  Charlton  Co,,  $1.00. 
CHARLTON  COMPANY,  67  Wall  St.,  New  York 


THE  FORERUNNER 

A  monthly  magazine,  written, 
edited,    owned   and   published 

by 

CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 

67  Wall  Street,  New  York  City 
U.  S.  A. 


SUBSCRIPTION  PER  YEAR 

Domestic |i.oo 

Canadian 1.12 

Foreign 1 . 25 


Bound  Volumes,  each  year  $1.40  post  paid 


This  magazine  carries  Mrs.  Oilman's  best  and  newest 
work,  her  social  philosophy,  verse,  satire,  fiction,  ethical 
teaching,  humor  and  opinion. 

It  stands  for  Humanness  in  Women  and  Men;  for 
better  methods  in  Child  Culture;  for  the  New  Ethics,  the 
better  Economics— the  New  World  we  are  to  make,  are 
making.  The  breadth  of  Mrs.  Oilman's  thought  and  her 
power  of  expressing  it  have  made  her  well-known  in 
America  and  Europe  as  a  leader  along  lines  of  human 
improvement  and  a  champion  of  woman. 

THE  FORERUNNER  voices  her  thought  and  its 
massages  are  not  only  many,  but  strong,  true  and  vital. 


C7? 


The  Man-made  World 

by 
CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 


$1.00  net,  $1.10  post  paid 


Men  have  written  much  about  women  as  females. 
Never  before  has  there  been  a  book  about  men  as  males. 

Here  a  woman  of  broad  Humanitarianism  and  world- 
wide reputation  shows  the  effect  on  Human  life  of  too 
much  masculine  dominance. 

THE  CHARLTON  CO. 

67  Wall  St.,  New  York  City 


Books  by  CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 

(Post  paid) 
In  This  Our  World  (verse)        .  $1.25 


Women  and  Economics 
Concerning  Children  . 
The  Yellow  Wall  Paper 
The  Home 
What  Diantha  Did   . 
The  Man-made  World 
Moving  the  Mountain    . 
The  Crux 


Bound  Volumes  2,  3,  and  4,  THE  FORERUNNER,  each 
Bound  Volume  1  of  THE  FORERUNNER      . 

THE  CHARLTON  CO. 

67  Wall  St.,  New  York  City 


.50 
.25 
.50 
.10 
.10 
.10 
,10 
.10 
.40 
.75 


THE  FORERUNNER 

A  monthly  magazine,  written 
edited,    owned   and    published 

by 

CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  OILMAN 

67  Wall  Street,  New  York  City 
U.  S.  A. 


SUBSCRIPTION    PER   YEAR 

Domestic $1.00 

Canadian 1.12 

Foreign 1.25 


Bound  Volumes,  each  year  $1.40  post  paid 
Except  Volume  I   which  is  $1.75  post  paid 


This  magazine  carries  Mrs.  Oilman's  best  and 
newest  work,  her  social  philosophy,  verse,  satire,  fic- 
tion, ethical  teaching,  humor  and  opinion. 

It  stands  for  Humanness  in  Women  and  Men;  for 
better  methods  in  Child  Culture;  for  the  New  Ethics, 
the  better  Economics — the  New  World  we  are  to  make, 
are  making.  The  breadth  of  Mrs.  Oilman's  thought 
and  her  power  of  expressing  it  have  made  her  well- 
known  in  America  and  Europe  as  a  leader  along  lines 
of  human  improvement  and  a  champion  of  woman. 

THE  FORERUNNER  voices  her  thought  and  its 
messages  are  not  only  many,  but  strong,  true  and  vital. 


CHARLTON  COMPANY,  67  Wall  St.,  New  York 


